Dial-Up Assassin
by The Itchy Bird
Summary: Modern AU. "Homestead Communications", Achilles Davenport's telecommunications company, is being threteaned by Abstergo Industries' plot of capital conquest, but his new apprentice, Ratonhnaké:ton/Connor Kenway, presents the idea of "Dial-Up Assassin", an emergency hotline that lets the Assassins help the population. Can they keep the Creed and company alive against the Templars?
1. Prologue

**Name of fanfic:**Dial-Up Assassin

**Summary: **Modern AU. Achilles Davenport is the tired owner of emergency telecommunications company "Homestead Connections", which may be closed down by Abstergo Industries' capital conquests, and is close to selling it when his new apprentice, Connor Kenway, suggests they revive it with its own alter ego. "Dail-Up Assassin" was soon borne from the ashes as Connor and the reviving Brotherhood helps to slowly bring back the company plus taking calls from people in need of help using his recruits, later to be more deeply invovled with fighting any form of tyranny within the bounderies of New England. But soon Abstergo Industries find out about it and the Templars will do their best to take down "Dial-Up Assassin". Can they keep the company alive while battling this super giant?

**Theme:** Office comedy, Drama, Action-Adventure, Family/Friendship, Educational (?), Crossover (both the games, novels, and comic series of the fandom) and just plain humor.

First person narration. Mostly Connor Kenway's POV (Point of view), but it may change as the story goes.

**Warning:** Rated M for weird parodies, discussion of politics, cursing of sorts, violence and gore, racial slurs, implied shipping, occasional innuendos, writing errors and slight OOC-ness .

Enjoy! :V

* * *

><p><strong><em>Main building, Abstergo Industries, New York<em>**

**_December 31, 2013_**

It is 11:50 P.M. on a Tuesday night. The well-lit, air-conditioned room is prestine, sleek color combinations of black, white and grey on the construction and the somewhat futuristic-styled interior designing. And yet on the box glass table infront of me, a _smack_ of irony greets the onlooker. A ceramic china set is laid out, along with tea bags, cream and sugar cubes. Such an elaborate and traditional set for a room so unorthodox and simplified.

Though I probably shouldn't be talking about the interior while I'm _shackled_ to this chair.

Fifteen minutes ago, I regained consciousness only to find that I was strapped onto a bilky, metal chair by the wrists and ankles. I relunctantly gave up prying my wrists and ankles from the contraption after five minutes, the proof of struggle visible on my newly acquired bruises. The next few minutes then I spent surveying the room, trying to come up with an escape plan or waiting for the right moment to move. Dammit, it's already aggrivating as is that an Assassin of my level is currently being bounded on only a chair, but the fact that my captor is sitting right across the table from me, crossed-legged and sipping Earl Grey-or some other tea variant-from such a dainty cup and saucer, isn't far from disturbing.

Graying hair slicked back, a periwinkle shirt and black tie ensemble, black pants and designer's leather shoes. The Englishman took his time sipping that black-colored drink, the steam more visible due the AC cooling the room. After one last sip, he gracefully lowers the cup and saucer onto the table, pinky finger supporting the the side of the saucer.

"Ahhh...a cup of jasmine is all that's needed for this situation." Haytham remarked before looking at me critically. Or, I thought it was directly at me. Straining his brows, he commented, "Oh. Didn't you like your tea, old boy?"

Grudgingly, my eyes shift down. A similar cup and drink was offered to me earlier despite (or because) I was restrained. Was he expecting me to bow down and drink it like a dog, or was he being a tease, knowing I had no freedom to take the cup myself? Not that I would enjoy taking any drink he offers. "I'm more of a Nescafe person..." I curtly answer back like I had just wrinkled my nose at the smell of the jasmine.

The man, supposedly my father, just shakes his head. "Tsk. American-branded coffee drinks. You truly have no taste, Connor." he remarks as he takes the tea away from me like I had just wasted the opportunity of a lifetime. But it does seem that way. It's not everyday that one can have tea and converse with the head of a secretly criminal organization. Moreso because of my job. "My tastes for caffeine beverages are obviously not important at the moment, though." my answer as snippy as I rolled my eyes, not that he could see that through my hood.

No, my tastes does not matter. Unless it was my blade tasting his flesh and blood. But I didn't have my blade or any of my usual weapons. The Templars had taken them while I was knocked out and hid them somwhere.

"So you are aware of your current situation. Right, then." Arranging the set onto a tray, he taps a button on the table and a compartment opens. He places the set there and the lid slides back, the table clear now. His gaze back to me, he continued, "You're here because we want to negotiate with you. You and your...company." The man said the last word with poison. "We only wish to benefit both ours and hope to bring better service to your clients. Clients that you have been...rather generous with."

I snort. _Negotiation. Benefits. Generosity._ He and this blasted industry of theirs want us dead and our facilities burned to the ground. Without us, they can continue with their dictatious and inhumane plots for conquest. But we won't let that happen.

Not when our lines are always ringing.

Perhaps I should go back to the beginning of all this...

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's note: <span>**Hello, everyone! Itchy here with my very first Assassin's Creed fanfic! I don't do much of these, but I really wanted to try some again so this'll be up in time for 2014. :D

This AU is actually inspired by many AUs I've found on Tumblr, and the term "Connorline" (Yes, I know it's a pairing name, but I randomly got the idea that it sounded like some hotline involving the characters from AC 3 and then this fic came into mind. OTL) It started as for fun, but then I reaaaaaaaally got wrapped into the idea.

Now, it has been a LONG time since I've written fanfiction (and very crappy ones at that...), but now that I've had a few muses on hwo to write fanfiction, I've finally mustered up the courage to start typing it into a file and submit. And...the upcoming chapter 1 took 2-5 days to write. Seriously. Respect to all you writers out there, fanfic or official stories! *thumbs up of admiration*

Okay, now that the formalities are done, back to the fanfiction. So, yeah. it's a modern alternative universe fanfiction, starring most of the characers from Assassin's Creed III and a few others from the other games, comic series, and novels. A few OCs included, too.

And yes. Haytham Kenway is the current head of Abstergo Industries and Grandmaster of the Templars. (How many of you saw this before clicking the story, hmm?) But he's actually not directly in charge of Abstergo. I've decided that I'll make a puppet CEO for the story later. not sure if it should be someone from the gameplay or an original character.

Aaaaaaaaaand I suck at titles. REALLY suck at them. OTL

Also, I hope everyone will have a good one this 2014! Don't forget to review and tell em what your thoughts are on this preview!

Updates are within a week more or less, so keep alert! :D

_~Itchy_


	2. Chapter 1: Uncanny Meeting

**Name of fanfic: **Dial-Up Assassin

**Summary: **Modern AU. Achilles Davenport is the tired owner of emergency telecommunications company "Homestead Connections", which may be closed down by Abstergo Industries' capital conquests, and is close to selling it when his new apprentice, Connor Kenway, suggests they revive it with its own alter ego. "Dial-Up Assassin" was soon borne from the ashes as Connor and the reviving Brotherhood helps to slowly bring back the company plus taking calls from people in need of help using his recruits, later to be more deeply involved with fighting any form of tyranny within the bounderies of New England. But soon Abstergo Industries find out about it and the Templars will do their best to take down "Dial-Up Assassin". Can they keep the company alive while battling this super giant?

**Theme:** Office comedy, Drama, Action-Adventure, Family/Friendship, Educational (?), Crossover (both the games, novels, and comic series of the fandom) and just plain humor.

First person narration. Mostly Connor Kenway's POV (Point of view), but it may change as the story goes.

**Warning:** Rated M for weird parodies, discussion of politics, cursing of sorts, violence and gore, racial slurs, implied shipping, occasional innuendos, writing errors and slight OOC-ness.

Enjoy! :V

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 1<strong>

_**Attucks National University, Boston, Massachusettes **_

_**March, 2008**_

5: 48 P.M. The noise outside our dorm had been on-going since the break of dawn and hadn't stopped much at dusk. But that wasn't the only reason why I decided to poke my head out of our 3rd-floor window. From the rowdiness of the spring break (and I still question why they chose to stay at the university and _not_ at some Florida beach), some decided to launch wet tee shirts at the dorms at the exact moment when I had decided to start my thesis. Just as I had opened the window, another shirt zoomed past inches from my face and onto floor. Staring at the wet item with irritation, I looked back outside and saw two frat boys bursting out laughter while holding the bazooka suspected they used to launch the wet garment.

"Hey, hey, hey! Look who just came out to smell the flowers?", one of the boys cackled out. I think he was part of the baseball team. I think from my Calculus class. It didn't matter, though. "Yo, Mohawk boy! Why not get out of your tent and have a little fun during the spring break?"

Lawrence, I think his name was that. Oh, how fun he poked at me using that nickname. Well, it was better than "bush nigger" or "Indian bro" or whatever nickname people came up with these days. And traditional Mohawk homes are longhouses, not tents. Rolling my eyes, I went and picked up the wet shirt before going back to lean on the window.

"My apologies, but I have _actual work_ to do. Here,", I nonchalantly threw the shirt back and it landed on the sidewalk near them with a soft splat. I continued, "I wish you many merriment on your bazooka mission. Just leave my window alone!" And with that, I backed away and raised a hand to close my window. But not without hearing the other boy yell out, "You're no fun, man! It's spring break, for fuck's sake!"

I grunted before closing the window and going back to my still-opened laptop. Here I was, planning to use whatever free time spring break offered to finish my work early so I wouldn't have to go into a procrastination fit at the end of the semester. And they were inviting me to launch moisten garments at random windows. How tempting.

A shifting sound from the bunker bed meant my roommate had just woken up, though it was a mystery as to how he could take a long nap, undisturbed by the party music and chatter just outside our dorm. Stephane, scratching at his crop-cut auburn hair, slowly sat up with a groan.

Rubbing tenaciously at his eyes, he blinked at few times and turned to me. "Ummf...Cher seigneur*, Radun... What time is it?", he mumbled sleepily. My culinary-majoring friend attempted to put on his shirt but couldn't roam his hand to it, even though it was just at his side.

I paused first at the nickname. Like most people, he still couldn't pronounce my full name and settled with an abbreviation of it, though it completely lacked meaning.

"It's almost sunset." I snorted at him as I turned my chair to face him. "Those after parties aren't as good as they sound now, do they?"

As if what I said had triggered his memories of last night's shindigs, he started mumbling random French and held his head in his free hand. Stephane Chapheau, my rather senior roommate, went to join the other party-goers to celebrate Spring Break, only to come home hours after 5 A.M. with a hangover the size of Massachusetts and slept the entire day. As he tried futilly to get new clothes to wear, my French companion stood up from his bottom bunker, the mattress creaking from the absence of weight, and made his way to the bathroom.

"Right, right... I'm just gonna freshen up for...um.." he didn't even bother to finish his statement as he slammed the bathroom door behind him.

I chuckled smugly. What college parties had taught me was that hangovers were a miserable after-effect. One I would seldom want while I was here. Before returning back to my task, I opened a drawer and took out a scrunchy (Is that what girls called it?) and proceeded to tie my shoulder-lengthed hair into a half ponytail. Spinning my chair again to my laptop, I idly began where I had last finished in my thesis, my fingers occasionally twirling around my single beaded braid absentmindedly. The clock at the end of the taskbar marked the time and I made a quick note to stop and save my work an hour later before going to my internship job. Turning my head at the bathroom door, I loudly stated, "Oh, Stephane! Almost forgot: Wait up for me later while I'm on my shift, alright?"

Some disfigured "oui"s from the other side meant that he somewhat understood.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Financial District, Boston<strong>_

_**Later That Night **_

10: 15 P.M. It was already tiring enough to work until this late at night, but I wasn't getting paid yet. Not now, anyway. The insurance company I took up for my internship was, to say the least, demanding. Four hours of work on odd days, from seven thirty to ten or eleven at night, with about very little time for a decent coffee break and being asked to fax, repair, and deliver assortments of items from one department to another, even though I was only working for one specific area.

But all the stress just made me more at eased afterwards. I would go to the men's room, change from my office wear into more casual tan sleeveless hoodie garb before logging out from the clerk's desk and would exit the office building, the not-too-warm night air whisking against my skin. And greeted by the still-bustling urban sight of the district.

Compared to the clean but bland offices I go to work at, the bright, shiny buildings where a wondrous sight in the nighttime cityscape as I walked along the pavement. And although used to this route by now, I always felt like I wanted to enter those buildings, just to see what goes on in them. Though from my experience as a network intern, they might have similar things going on inside, whether the interior was similarly done by some posh million dollar contractor. But they were a relief compared to the repetitive work I had to go through. Doing similarly purposed assignments for my manager and the delegates in the office. Hopefully, by the time I complete my internship, I could actually have a normal paycheck from the company. Maybe get a job at Intel or some telecommunications company.

But the busy pedestrian lanes were replaced by small restaurants and convenient stores later on. The downtown area was right near Chinatown and the buildings around grew smaller and less grand with every step I took. And further on, people became more conspicuous and shady-looking...and less.

Since my dorm was just one drive away from the district, I've decided to only walk halfway until the nearest bus station. And as usual, toughening up my awareness, I stopped gazing up and became potent in keeping my guard, my right hand gingerly clutching the pepper spray I had borrowed from Stephane in my hood. It's been the same since I started my internship, but I always felt like there were always eyes pinned to the alley walls, waiting to spot their next victim. And I intended to not be that. I just needed to get to the bus station...

"Pardon me!", a scuffed voice yelled at me before the figure zoomed passed me. A flurry of white and blue came before the image of a hood and trench coat ensemble came to view. But before I could react, though, another person bumped into me, wearing some kind of security uniform, and I nearly lost my balance before leaning on the nearby wall for support. It took me a few seconds to register what had just happened before another figure passed by and stepped his foot on mine. "Aaargh!" A quick hand grabbed my foot to try and massage the pain away, even though my shoes coveredmy toes.

Trying to ignore the numbing pain, I looked up to glare at them, but found that they had curved into an alleyway. "What the hell..."

By the time my foot had stopped throbbing, they had most likely gone far into the night. I grunted before straightened myself out, trying to get over what had just occured. Finally resetting my hood, I continued on for my bus station quest.

* * *

><p>I could just about see the lighted windows of the station, a line of buses parked or already moving right besides the one-floored structure. There was a small amount of nighttime passengers waiting to buy their tickets or board their ride if they already have them. There was even a line of passengers who had to exit the bus because of a maintenance problem.<p>

Sighing, finally making it to my destination, I continued on. Maybe Stephane _was_ actually waiting up on me. Making sure that no one around looked like they were going to mug me, I quickly took out my cellphone, unlocked it and speed-dialed his number. Stopping to lean on a nearby post with the speaker placed at my ear, I waited for the ringing to click and be replaced by Stephane's French lisp.

"H'allo? Radun?"

"Stephane. I'm about to get a ticket for the bus. How're things at the moment there?"

"Uneventful. Well, except that the frat boys are throwing things aside from wet shirts at our windows now. No sooner did they launch that sub sandwich—"

"A sandwich?" I couldn't even count the questions that had formed in my head after hearing that.

"Oui, a sandwich. Well, no sooner did they launch it that Monsieur Taggert went out and tried to deal with the boys."

"And did he succeed?" I asked concerned. I had hope the fraternity didn't go as far as having the security at the dorms notice them. Suddenly, I didn't realized that I had started walking again until seeing that I was already on the station's pavement. Going over to push open the glass door, I entered and made my way to one of the chairs in the waiting area and sat down on the curved plastic.

"Non.*" The exasperation of his voice was rather clear form the phone. "He was only trying to ward them off, but one of the frat boys tried to aim the bazooka at him and he had to duck behind a trash can to dodge it. Poor man tried to apprehend the boy, but the others rounded up around him and they were throwing him around like a rag doll. Forced me and some good folk from the dorms to come down and get him out of that mess."

A snort came out and then a hiss at the speaker. "Ended up with everyone trying to get onto the other and the results were many bruises and a few cops showing up to get the order back. The frats, a few of the live-ins and the guard had to go to the police station to explain the whole endeavour, but luckily, we were sent home first. I'm currently dabbing the Betadine on my cheek from that experience. Sorry."

My fingers immediately went up to squeeze the bridge of my nose. Most likely a fight was the result of such confrontation no matter how diplomatic the dorm patrons tried to talk it out. Like every spring break since we moved there. "You know, you could've just stayed inside and not get into that ordeal."

"Hoho! Far from that." I heard him say proudly. "I was the leader of that little stand-off. Better we did something to defend ourselves and leave them a reason to not come back, I say."

Sighing, I checked the phone's clock. Around eleven fifteen and the chaos still hadn't ceased by then. I put the phone back to my face and spoke tiredly, "At this rate, I'm going to have to move to a new dorm, with or without you."

The chuckle from the other line meant he knew I was just exaggerating. Mostly. "Alright, alright. Do you want anything from the nearby store while I'm here?"

He was taking his time considering my offer as the line hasn't had much sound except for his humming. I took this time to go over the counter to ask for my ticket. After stating my destination, the ticket lady boredly gave me my ticket and shoved my money into a cash box, not even bothering to count it. Then I made my way to the exit just as Stephane finally made a choice. "Oh. Could you get some of those beef jerky packs the Americans enjoy alot?"

"That's it? Just jerky?" I wasn't sure if the store next door even HAD jerky. "Well, I'm not sure I can get that, but I'll go check at the store if they-"

The words stopped mid-sentence as my eyes fell to one of the alleys, at a far end ot the intersection. It was still too dark to see it, but the white figure from earlier was being forcefully pulled into the curb, his feet trying to wretch his body free by thrashing around before those too were pulled away from my line of vision. It was at one of the more secluded parts of the block, with practically no person hanging around at this time. A feeling in my gut told me that it was trouble, but...

"H'allo? Radun, are you still there?" Stephane's voice pulled me out of my thinking.

Pursing my lips and curving my brows, I flatly answered, "I'll call you later." before putting the phone on standby, pocketing it and silently making my way to the curb. My inner thoughts were always ignored by my instincts to go and check out the happenings, no matter how often I tried to convince myself otherwise. Like whenever I see trouble, I only accept the challenge when it's completely inconvenient for me... Not like someone was actually challenging me at the moment, though.

Which is why I was currently leaning against the wall adjacent to the alleyway I saw the figure get pulled into, near a dumpster and a few trash cans.

"LET GO OF ME!" I think that was the man in the white hood. He sounded rather aged and raspy.

"Not until you tell us why you were scampering around the building, old man!" Another voice threatened, probably one of the security guys I saw earlier as well.

"Like I would tell you scumbags what business I had there—" He was cut off, the gasp and cough he emitted probably meant one of them was beating him up. I cringed abit at the thought.

"You ain't in damn puhzishin' to be back-sassin' at us, so just fess up and we'll take you into custody instead of splitting yo' neck open." The second guy stated with a Boston accent.

I think I heard the old man spit at one of them. The angry sound must have meant it hit target. Ignoring their conversation for awhile, l looked down at one of the trash cans. I kneeled down, turned one of them over and kicked-rolled it across the alley opening. Then I took out the pepper spray and readied it in one hand and the can lid in the other while my back was flat against the wall.

I swallowed hard, getting tensed. _This had better work._

"What was that?" The first thug asked alertly.

A weird click was heard before the other replied, "I dunno. Wait right here and keep an eye on him, will ya?" The soft-but-getting-louder sound of rubber boots padding on the concrete meant he was coming closer. As he came closer, I was desperately trying to pushed away any disrupting thought away and focused hard on what I needed to do.

Just as the uniformed man came into view-my heart jumped up my throat when I saw the handgun—, something started shaking inside the turned-over can. It immediately got the attention of the man. He tensed up and aimed the gun at it, ready to pull the trigger when a _meow_ from the rubble. Soon, a dirty cat came out, shaking off the litter and hissing menacingly at the man, the fur on its back rising up before scurrying away from the scene.

The man let out a sigh and chuckled. "Hey, Jeff! You're not gonna believe this." It's a puss!" He said as he eased his grip on the gun and I saw my opportunity.

"Well, hurry back here, damn you! Who knows what our _friend_ here-" mostly likely describing the hooded man. "-will try at us with."

"Yeah, Yeah, I gotcha. Nothin' here but some-" I didn't give him time to finish as I pressed and sprayed at his eyes. He screamed in agony, dropping his gun and swaying abit, relapsing on the pain as the pepper melted into his pupils. As he thrashed some more, I pocketed the spray, quickly moved forward and kicked his gun to the other side of the street.

"Hey!" The other man yelled, facing my direction. "Stop right there, punk!" I had just raised the lid when the shot was fired and it hit the metal with a loud clank. Keeping it in front of me, I darted at the man in a zigzag movement to avoid the continuous shots he fired, some missing me by a few inches. The noisy bang was muffled by a silencer attatched, but I still knew how to dodged them. The closer I got, the more I expected his aim to improve, but when I finally came to a halt, I saw that the hooded figure had gotten up somehow and gripped the thug from behind. With one quick movement, he moved his left arm over the man's neck and it started spilling out blood, his limbs loosening and dropping the gun he held to the ground, before the hooded man let go and let him fall on the ground, lifeless.

* * *

><p>For a long time, my body froze on the spot. I carelessly dropped the trash can lid and kept my gaze at the dead body. It took me a few seconds—though it felt like —forever to register the thought that came in.<p>

_I had just witness murder._

Though it was in self-defense, the pool of blood forming around the dead man's body wasn't helping my shock. Then it dawned on me that I had _saved _the killer. And it sank in deep into my chest. It was hard, but I tried to look at the hooded man.

His white coat was stained by the blood that had soaked into the fabric. It was visible even in the barely lit alleyway. His posture, though, bothered me more. My eyes scanned the arm he had used and found somewhere gauntlet, bloodied and...it lookd like a blade was attached to it.

Then I scanned him entirely. He looked very much in pain, heaving air in and out while one black-gloved hand was holding onto his right leg. Assuming that his leg was injured, it was most likely while he was thrashing against his captors. Then, mustering up whatever courage was left, I raised my eyes to his face.

He _was_ old. Most likely in his 60s. And of African-American stock, the white facial hair standing out from his dark skin. His expression was still pained, but he looked at me with a dose of hostility. But he then bent over picked up the discarded gun. And raised it.

Right. To. My. Face.

Panic started shooting at every bit of my body And I finally began to move and backed away quickly, hands raised in defense. "W-w-wait! Didn't I just save you—"

"Get down." His voiced commanded harshly.

My eyed narrowed at him, confused, but still alert. "Why are you—"

_Bang!_

The shot was fired too quickly. My eyes were shut tight, thinking this was the end for me. And i waited for my body to drop in pain and for death to take me.

But I didn't feel the impact.

It flew past me, even. I had just realized it, then slowly opening one eye, saw that the man had shifted his aim to my right before dropping his arm and letting go of the gun, the firearm dropping with a metal clang on the ground.

I turned around to the direction of his shot and was greeted with the sight of the other uniformed thug, lying on his back and the limbs twitching before they stopped moving. His head was... I had to resist vomiting. It was split open from the cranium by the gunshot and was bleeding tremendously. Before I could get over the grotesque display though, I was grabbed by the arms and the weight tugged at me. I turned my head to the old man, who was clinging onto me for dear life. He was trying to mumble something. I leaned in closer to get a clearer reception.

"Ca...Ca...Can you drive..a..a bike?"

I raised a brow, then it hit me. He was asking me if I could drive a motorcycle. I nodded frantically, having learned by doing restaurant deliveries during high school. I was still confused until he took something out of his inner-coat pockets. Shakily, he raised his hand and, holding it from the chain, tried to hand me a key. Hesitantly taking it, I ran my thumb on the small item. Then, with me holding him up without thinking, he got up, still clinging onto my shoulder.

"There's...there's a bike.." he started, still breathing hard from the pain in his leg. "..A few blocks away...head to the next street...at the right..."

"Wait! Your leg!" I snapped cautiously. "We need to get you to a hospital—"

"No time!" The man cringed while urging me to go. "Not the hospital.. They'll find..they'll find me there...We have to...go. NOW." The last word was said with such urgency and, if I heard it right, plea.

The sound at the back of my throat only heightened my displeasure of the whole situation. I was in an alleyway, two dead guys are on the ground, the murderer, who I had _just_ rescued, was asking me to avoid _any_ kind of public help or authority. And I had unwittingly become an accessory and witness to his supposed crime. All before midnight.

Taking a deep and long breath, I adjusted myself and the man and began trudging towards the other street. Not too fast as to strain further his leg, but still hurriedly making our way. And indeed, there was motorcycle parked behind a telephone booth, the helmet strapped around one of the mirrors. We continued on until I had the old man hold onto the booth while I maneuvered the bike near him and onto the road, putting up its side stand. Then, gingerly, I helped him up the seat, careful not to further increase his discomfort. I came on the front end of the seat afterwards. He then grabbed my left shoulder with one hand and cradled his leg with the other.

After grabbing the helmet and strapping it only my head, I took out the key and slipped in into the ignition slot, then kicked the pedal and twisted the handgrip repeatedly until the engine roared into life. Then, kicking off the side stand, I glanced back at the old man.

"By the way, I'm Radun! You have a name or should I just call you 'geezer'?", I shouted at him amidst the loud engine. Usually respecting and modest around old folk, the situation took both qualities from me and I couldn't help slur abit.

A loud 'Hmph!' came from him before shouting back. "Achilles Davenport! Now head northwest from here!" he pointed up the more rural neighborhoods.

I hesitated, trying to recall just why on Earth had made me agree to escort this man away from the crime scene, then remembered I had a hand in it as well. Nodding that I udnerstood, I faced the road again, but not before spotting a weird symbol on the gas tank. it looked like an "A", only it didn't have a line in the middle and was more like a staple remover.

As if seeing my gazing at the symbol, Achilles nudged at me. "Nevermind that! I'll explain everything later. Now, drive!"

I complied. Pushing the bike forward with my feet, I prolonged on the handgrip and we were off. And as the wind smacked at my face at sixty-two miles an hour, I was in for a _long _night_._

**END OF CHAPTER 1**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's note:<span>**_  
><em>

_Cher seigur means "Dear Lord" in French...I think. And Non means "No"...not like that needed a translation._

And it's done! First real chapter, with 4000+ words, too. O_O

So, at the real beginning of the story, Connor is (for the meantime) a IT college student (Btw, not an actual university. It's named after a victim/fighter from the Boston Massacre. Look him up. ;P) who currently lives in Boston, Massachusetts (I've spelled this wrong WAY too often OTL) with roommie Stephane Chapheau, who is actually the first of the Recruits in the actual game. And instead of going to Achilles purposely, they end up meeting by the strangest of circumstance. More into that later.

Oh, and Connor currently has an intership at (insert random insurance company's name), and, based off movies, friends at college who had internships, and articles concerning the topic, I guess I made his internship in the story kind of sucky, especially with his heritage. Oh well.

Oh, the setting. yes, I had to research abit on Boston, history and modern day, to give this abit more details. As for the time setting, I decided to give it at least 5 years story-wise.

_Next chapter may or may not be submitted next week, or the week after that...January 15 tops!_

And do leave out your review here. Suggestions and criticism are welcome! :D


	3. Chapter 2: What's In A Name

**Name of fanfic: **Dial-Up Assassin

**Summary:** Modern AU. Achilles Davenport is the tired owner of emergency telecommunications company "Homestead Connections", which may be closed down by Abstergo Industries' capital conquests, and is close to selling it when his new apprentice, Connor Kenway, suggests they revive it with its own alter ego. "Dail-Up Assassin" was soon borne from the ashes as Connor and the reviving Brotherhood helps to slowly bring back the company plus taking calls from people in need of help using his recruits, later to be more deeply invovled with fighting any form of tyranny within the bounderies of New England. But soon Abstergo Industries find out about it and the Templars will do their best to take down "Dial-Up Assassin". Can they keep the company alive while battling this super giant?

**Theme:** Office comedy, Drama, Action-Adventure, Family/Friendship, Educational (?), Crossover (both the games, novels, and comic series of the fandom) and just plain humor.

First person narration. Mostly Connor Kenway's POV (Point of view), but it may change as the story goes.

**Warning:** Rated M for weird parodies, discussion of politics, cursing of sorts, violence and gore, racial slurs, implied shipping, occasional innuendos, writing errors and slight OOC-ness .

**Disclaimer:** Most of the characters are canon and belong to Ubisoft. I only own the story and certain OCs.

_**Notice: **Okay, I apologize for any inaccuracies from the last chapter. Because first off, I've never been to Boston, Massachusetts before, so whatever geographical definition I'm working on here is kind of scrapped or borderline fictional. (Then again, the Homestead wasn't exactly properly marked either. I think it's somewhere between Massachusetts and Maine...or was it New Hampshire...IDK, basing this from the game map of the Homestead. Urk.) but please, if any of you live there or know enough of the city and the outskirts, please. Don't hesitate to tell me and correct it. ; e ;_

_And a BILLION thanks to swegm for beta-reading this one. And I'm glad you enjoyed helping me out, despite my late update. OuO_

_Okay, notice over. Enjoy the read!_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 2<strong>_

_**Outside Boston City Limit**_  
><em><strong>Past Midnight<strong>_

We drove on for more than an hour, passing by suburban neighborhoods as the normal-sized to the more well-sized of homes came into view. Every now and then, the old man-excuse me, Achilles-would direct me to a different road, intersection, or curb. And from the way he suddenly became vigilant in guiding my way around, I believe we were close to whatever destination he wanted us to go to, but the further I drove, the more distant every structure was. Frustrated at not knowing what the situation was in reality, I constantly inquired about it, but the dark-skinned man kept dismissing it, promising to "explain everything when we get there."

Get to where?

It took several more minutes of driving before Achilles started nudging at my shoulder, exclaiming, "Stop! We're here!"

I squeezed at the brakes and curved over near the pavement, balancing the motorcycle before looking at our surroundings. We had stopped at an area full of warehouses, slightly isolated from the other establishments and just barely lit by streetlights. The walls surrounding most of the compound were made of fairly old bricks with a large gate at the entrance. One could somewhat make out a small doorway on the gate. I blinked for a time before feeling the old man do some shuffling.

Turning around, I saw him retrieve a small microphone from inside his coat, clipping it onto his collar and flipping a switch somewhere. He then coughed to clear his throat before speaking to the tiny mic.

"Bloodhound here. I repeat, Bloodhound here. Please answer. Over."

Bloodhound. That was a weird yet appropriate codename... Though the fact that he was using a codename for an unknown purpose struck me as beyond suspicious. He remained quiet for a while, when suddenly an electronic sound started coming out from somewhere in his coat, the person or persons he was speaking to replying back.

"Yes. I've gathered the info and eliminated the target, but I had to split immediately after the area started flooding with guards. And I..." The old man held his injured leg gingerly. "...just barely made it out alive, over."

_You're welcome, Mr. Davenport_, I thought sharply, just barely remembering his full name from when he introduced himself _because I had saved him._

A weird sound from the man snapped me out of my sarcastic thinking before he started talking again. "Oh, you can trust the boy I'm with..."

_With? So the people on the other line could see us?_

"No, I can't go in alone by myself," Achilles continued. "Just open the gates already." Though not loud, the authority in his voice was enough to make me cringe. He even forgot to say "over" afterwards.

Nodding at whoever was replying to, he gave off a tiny smile before saying, "Yes. Thank you. Over and out." With that, he turned off the mic and unclipped it from his collar before putting it back into his coat. Then he raised his head, just noticing my stare before I turned away sheepishly. As I did, however, a slight rumbling came from the gates. Suddenly, it opened by itself, parting in two with an electronic beeping. Slowly, the path became wider until the beeping had stopped, exposing the sand-based expansion of the compound.

I quickly became unsure of whether or not I should even try to enter unfamiliar grounds, but more nudging and a "Go on, boy," from Achilles prompted me to twist the throttle and push forward, driving onto the lot. The compound seemed to be more than... 9,000 square meters, was it?... with about three evenly sized warehouses making up the lot. The whole place was surrounded by the massive wall, with only the front and back gates serving as a means of entrance.

The door of the warehouse farthest from us was open, light emerging from behind the silhouette of what I thought was a man; likely the person he was talking to a while back. He appeared to be waving, which Achilles confirmed by pointing at the man, so I drove toward the warehouse.

My guess was right when I thought there was a man at the door; He was of a similar age to Achilles, but he was Caucasian, and his hair and mustache had completely gone white. Garbed in a trench coat, dark trousers and some leather boots, our new companion quickly strode over to us the minute I pulled over and parked the bike. Taking off the helmet and hanging it on one of the rearview mirrors, I carefully got off the bike to help him lower Achilles from it, but as I was about to draw near, the other man stopped in his tracks and eyed me suspiciously, his stance defensive of himself and Achilles. I just stood there, feeling my need to be away from here increase.

The hooded Achilles broke our stand-off with his grunts. "Let him help, Robert," he hoarsely insisted as he held onto the bike, waiting for one of us to assist him. The man he called Robert immediately came to his left side to grab hold of him. As I got over the mercifully ruined mood and went to take Achilles' left arm, the gray-haired man kept giving me looks, then turned to his friend in resignation before we started going into the warehouse.

"What's this kid doing here with you, Achilles?" he started, then looked as though he was considering his words before continuing, "Alright, he escorted you here. But he has no reason to—"

"Stand down, Faulkner. It's because of him that I'm still here talking to you." Through groans and slight heaves of breath, Achilles was able to muster up enough sense to make his rebuke sound smooth and convincing, which might have worked, judging from the uncomfortable sound coming from Faulkner. He backed down, but continued to eye me with disdain.

Again, it was Achilles who broke the silence. "Also, my friend, I believe I owe the boy more than just an explanation." He snorted as we walked about the warehouse, looking for a place to sit him down. I was a little startled by the man suddenly taking sides with me. Faulkner merely sighed and tried not to look at me anymore. Synchronizing our steps, we made our way into the warehouse.

"This 'boy' has a name, you know," I blurted out, unable to help myself, knowing their names whilst they didn't know mine. And I was getting tired of being spoken of as "the boy."

The man gave off a lopsided smile in acknowledgment. "Pray tell. I couldn't remember the one you told me while you put the bike in gear," He said thoughtfully. "Well, introduce yourself, boy—I mean, _sir_." That last bit of sarcasm earned a grunt from me.

I didn't expect to give them my actual name, but my tongue started sliding around the back of my teeth, thinking on how my name sounded in my head. Shaking my head, I merely replied, "Radun."

Seeing as they looked like they were waiting for more, I added, "My full name's nothing either of you could pronounce." With that, I nudged at Faulkner, and, without questioning my reply, he started moving again.

I tried to make sense of the place with the little light the lamps would give off at this hour. The interior was like any warehouse I'd seen during my odd job days; the upper windows were closed, there was a crane attached to the ceiling, boxes piled up at one end, and large-to-small crates at another, all arranged to make it look like a functional maze, with a few doors most likely leading to separate areas within the warehouse. There were some tables and chairs at the farther right, and Robert led us there, making turn after turn around the supplies. Achilles, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, was fighting back the urge to cry out from his injury as we carried him.

I gulped, thinking whether or not this was the best time to ask questions, but I figured they'd just answer me with questions of their own. And yet, that symbol on the bike earlier... It seemed familiar... I couldn't get it out of my head, and it kept tugging at me for answers as more questions started bombarding my thinking.

Where had I seen it before? How did I end up in this mess? And why had I agreed to help this wounded stranger?

Finally we reached the area where the chairs where at. Robert then looked at me seriously before saying, "Keep him steady. I'll go get some medical supplies." It was a command, not a request. I nodded, taking hold of Achilles' left side as Falkner eased himself off the man, reaching for a plastic chair and shoving it in front of us before making his way toward one of the doors.

I then turned my attention to the chair he had offered. Slowly, I maneuvered Achilles to sit down, though his weight was even heavier as he tried to steady himself onto it. After a few more grunts, I finally got him settled. He started fidgeting in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn't hurt his leg further before pulling down his hood.

The light from above made his wrinkles more distinct, his expressions highlighted by every line, but his eyes, though tired, still showed some mirth and determination. I tried not to stare, but he reminded me of the elders back at our reserve. Even reminded me of our Clan Mother...

Backing away to give him space, I reached out for another chair to sit myself on, the back facing the hooded man. I sat there, my back arched and arms folded over the plastic frame with my legs sprawled around the chair. If Achilles gave any reaction to my manner of sitting, I paid no heed to it and tried to think of what to say next. I decided to start by inquiring about his physical state.

"So...how did you get that injury?" I hinted at his right leg. He gave off a half-smile at the question, his hand on the injured leg as he made his answer.

"Well, those thugs took the liberty of leaving a memento for sabotaging their patrons' party," he joked, leaving me to consider him crazy for speaking of it so lightly. He continued, "They shot at me while I was trying to scale a building, hoping to distance myself from them. The bullet didn't hit anything vital, but I lost my grip, falling down on the pavement. It happened so fast that I didn't have time to prepare myself to land accordingly like usual. Even worse, my leg was first to hit a bench before I completely crashed down. Thus, my fractured limb." His tone while saying that was regretful, like he was angry at himself, perhaps. Raising his head, his expression changed to reconsideration.

"Don't think that my brash actions back while we were traveling meant I was ungrateful. I didn't expect for anyone to come to my rescue, especially at such a secluded area." He glanced again at his leg before he looked back to me. "I thank you, but... Why did you come to rescue me?"

I was taken aback by that question, and turned away to think. To be honest, it was more of an impulse than my morality tugging at me to rescue him, like I couldn't go home without knowing if he got away from those thugs. I didn't even try to think whether or not I was going to survive that endeavor. When I looked back to him, all I could say was, "It was something I just had to do."

I sounded so... final.

A light chuckle came out of him as he considered my answer. My expression grew stiff from irritation. Just what was so funny about a college student trying to save a murderer from being killed by his own victims? Grunting, I continued, "Well, because of that, I missed my bus and will probably worry my roommate by staying here. But what I want to know is just how I got dragged into this mess, so could you please?" I tried not to grit my teeth while saying that. An explanation. That was all I needed before I could go home and try to forget how my act of chivalry got me into such a stressful situation.

The old man tried to clear his throat before his tone became formal. "Yes, um. Back to the matter at hand. You see, Radun." I took note that he actually remembered my nickname. "Their employers, though publicly known for progress and innovation, are undesirables whose purpose is to acquire control while secretly pulling the wool over everyone's eyes. And I was there to put a hindrance—or hopefully—a complete overhaul against it." He considered his next sentence before continuing. "Are you familiar with Abstergo Industries, boy?"

I blinked a few times. The main multipurpose company that also ran Abstergo Entertainment was more than well-known around the world, having created video games so realistic and faithful to the game's story. But even before he asked this, I and certain others were already suspicious about how the company could be so widespread, and it was one of the reasons why I took up my college major: to try, and, hopefully, be hired and find out for myself.

"They have a branch somewhere in the city, and often I hear my coworkers at the company I work for speak of it highly, though...There have been controversies." I paused. Now that he mentioned it, I looked back to my time at work. Concerning the metropolitan titan, there was usually some urgent whispering every time the word "Abstergo" was heard, or if a commercial with the triangular logo came up on one of the company's lounge televisions. If that wasn't a dead giveaway on the matter, I didn't know what was.

My brows fused together as I spoke again, "Did they have something to do with your sneaking around?" I really had hoped my question didn't sound so nosy, but my curiosity needed to be satisfied.

The old man gave a loud "Hmph," shuffling slightly in his seat. "Looks like you're already aware of the fact that the company is playing everyone for a fool in this age. Yes; they had EVERYTHING to do with my little _escapade_."

His emphasis on "escapade" only added to my want to know. The brown man must have sensed it, too. "Although, perhaps I should continue after Robert here treats my wounds." He gestured toward my left.

As I turned my head, Faulkner had returned with a small cart, bandages, bottles, and all sorts of medical gadgets like digital thermometers and a syghmometer found in the compartments. When he wheeled it over to our spot, he took another chair and positioned it in front of Achilles. The latter raised his head to the man in exasperation.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Bloodhound," Faulkner replied with eyes rolled as he lifted the other man's injured leg, ignoring the slightest cries of anguish that his friend emitted and placed it on the chair. He then proceeded to remove the boot, carelessly undoing the laces before completely peeling off the footwear to reveal the swollen calf, the nerves near the foot pumping out into shape. I thought his thighs were the main cause of the pain, but the revelation of the injury was both harsh... and peculiar.

Then I snickered quirky to myself.

Both men's gaze went to me. I tried to stay quiet, but then gave in and uttered, "Achilles' Heel."

First, there was a pause. The gray-haired men looked hard at me. Then Achilles started chuckling and then, reluctantly, Faulkner, and then I, joined in. Before we knew it, the whole warehouse was echoing with our laughter.

And it took us a minute of roaring out to get that pun out of our gutters.

What an out-of-place time to crack a joke.

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><p>Our little laughter fit was replaced with looks of sympathy—or uneasiness for most of the time—while trying not to make it harder on Achilles as Faulkner tried to steady him. The brown man had spent the whole time clenching onto the seat of his chair, teeth grinding and eyes closed shut, mustering all his strength to not cry out in agony after even the slightest touch. It had taken half an hour to treat the Achilles' fracture-longer than it would have taken if we went to a hospital-but that was out of the question. Even when it was all over, Davenport took a few minutes to shudder out any remaining spasms he got during the treatment, not to mention how he curled away when his other wounds, though not as serious, were being mended.<p>

Now, after Faulkner finished up the makeshift cast on the leg, I decided to go and continue my chat with the old timer. I squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying to form the words in my head until they came out.

"Now that you're patched up, lets just assume that I'm taking in all this... um... talk of conspiracies and such... Maybe you could tell me why is it that you are keeping Abstergo at bay, that you have to risk your life to stop whatever it is they're up to?" I knew that I sounded brash in this situation, but I helped this man survive an assault, so he was right when he said I needed more than an explanation.

He cleared his throat. For someone who had just endured an excruciating medical procedure, Achilles' composure was disciplined. "My kind's plight against the company is deeper than one can comprehend. What most of the world is told to believe is that they're using the most advance technology to bring accommodating fun and learning to the masses, its entertainment business connecting one with their own ancestors." He tugged at his coat sleeve, pulling it up to reveal brown leather, the same insignia on the bike emblazoned there as a metal clasp.

"All of it is _false_. And, dare I say, _manipulative_."

The tone of his voice when he said it was painstakingly clear. It was the surest thing I had heard him say since I first found him hours ago. It took a few seconds before he spoke again with some brevity. "Their game franchise is just a medium for them to find information. For every person who plugs in their machines, the company just adds in another outlet to spy on, extracting from the user bits of their DNA that they never realized would not only be useful, but crucial in achieving Abstergo's ultimate goals. Goals, mind you," he leaned forward to look me in the eye, "that they have been trying to reach for a much longer time than you'd expect."

I tried to keep a straight face at what he said. For all this information that he was telling me, I wasn't sure if I still wanted to find out. But if what he said about those games was true, then I had to suck in my gut. I opened my mouth for the next question. "I know that they're using genetically enhanced technology, so to speak... but what do we have to offer to them? And what are their goals?"

His mouth formed a hard line, like he was reconsidering whether or not to let me know. He was staring hard at the clasp on his armband, his right hand roaming fingers around the shape. I grew uneasy the longer he spent thinking of an answer. Looking down at my feet, I started flexing my ankles, making invisible marks with the rubber base of my sneakers. Impatience grew within me and I looked back up to Achilles. It caught me slightly off guard that the old man was suddenly looking right at me. Calculatingly, I might add.

Irritation and scrutiny building, a frown formed across my face. I couldn't stand being left in the dark and blurred out. Palms facing him, I demanded, "Well? Tell me!"

This time, it was he who might have been surprised. But he recovered sooner and inquired, "Who are you, really?"

From the back of my throat emitted a growl. Why was he asking me about my identity when I was the one asking the questions? Was this a joke to him? "You said I'd get a full explanation, and so far, all I'm getting are vague conspiracies and questions being thrown back at me. Now tell me, Mister; How does Abstergo come in with me getting into this blasted crossfire of yours?" After a pause, I said in a lower and more persuasive tone, "I didn't risk my life to know this shit, but I have. To. KNOW."

Whatever panic and fear I hid before was catching up to me. I could hear the clenched shuddering from my voice. I just wanted an answer, thinking I was so sure but now all I wanted was to go home and hear Stephane nag at me about the bus and his jerky that I never got to buy.

But even as these thoughts occurred, the man seemed unfazed by my outburst and replied, "Tell me your full name first. And I will reveal all you must know."

Calm. Determined. Who was he to be like this in such a conversation?

The word "must" lingered in my head, though. It made me think that, whatever he would..._will_ tell me... was on a "need-to-know" basis... for me. His expression was patient. Anticipating my answer. I hated to think it, but maybe he already knew. He just needed my answer.

My expression grew stiff again, but I sighed in surrender. Then, after a long time of using a nickname, I carefully answered.

"Danohue... Ratonhnhaké:ton Danohue."

**END OF CHAPTER 2**

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><p><span><strong>Author's<strong> **note**: Do you guys know how LONG I've been waiting to crack that Achilles' Heel joke. Since AC 3 got out, that's what! Oh, come ON, fandom! Where are all the heel jokes, huh? XD

And also, Connor's civilian name. (Yep, that's what I call it.) Funny thing about Native American names: originally, the child was to take their mother's surname, if surnames existed for most of their history. It was only with European influence that the father's surname took account instead. Also, many Native Americans, particularly those who converted to Christianity, took up European names. (Not that Ziio converted, I mean...) So, if you're wondering, then yes. "Danohue" will be Kanieh:tiio (Connor's mom...forgot how to spell it, sorry) family name. And of course, Connor's borne native name.

And I'm just gonna go with Stephane or some other non-Native person giving him the nickname "Radun", like they just started calling him that and it became a thing. (And completely butchering the original meaning, yea.)

Next update: Febuary 4-9. Yeah, very unsure since I failed the last deadline. OTL (this is why I'm aspiring to be an illustrator and NOT an author.)

Please review, and stay tuned! Itchy is out! OeO)/


	4. Chapter 3: Questioning History

**Theme:** Office comedy, Drama, Action-Adventure, Family/Friendship, Educational (?), Crossover (both the games, novels, and comic series of the fandom) and just plain humor.

First person narration. Mostly Connor Kenway's POV (Point of view), but it may change as the story goes.

**Warning:** Rated M for weird parodies, discussion of politics, cursing of sorts, violence and gore, racial slurs, implied shipping, occasional innuendos, writing errors, slight OOC-ness. Oh, and for this chapter, spoilers. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

**Disclaimer:** Most of the characters are canon and belong to Ubisoft. I merely borrowed them for this fic.

**Notice:** Alright, about half of this chapter will be Achilles's long explanation about Abstergo Industries, the Templars and why the Assassins are trying to stop them (And maybe a spoiler alert is more than needed here) So if you want, you can skip to the part where Radun leaves the warehouse. (I mean, it's an Assassin's Creed AU. I'm sure by now, you guys all know about the Templars, Assassins, First Civilization, etc. ) But then again, the info was bent abit to fit the fanfic, so if you'd still like to read (and watch me TRY to sound like I'm typing up Achilles' point of view), then I ain't stopping you. O u O

Just find this marking: "*****" This indicates the beginning and end of the history-lesson part of the chapter, so you can choose to either read it straight or skim to the rest of the story.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 3<em>**

**_The Warehouse, Outside Boston City Limit_**

**_Achilles' POV_**

_Danohue._

Did I hear it right?

I was wondering why, aside from the fact that the boy had saved me, was I so compelled to shine light on his confusion. And was even intrigued by the nature of his actions. He had saved a mysterious man he had never known before out of an 'impulse'. Surprisingly, even, that he was unharmed from the ordeal, even when the shooter had a silencer attached to his gun. And his insistence to acquire knowledge. He was not only familiar with Abstergo Industries, but even so far as to asset that he didn't ignore the conspiracies surrounding the name. Took it into account, even.

Lastly, was his appearance. For the first few hours, I didn't get a good look at him. The pain of my injury and the need to escape from the scene had prevented me from concentrating on those. Until now. A young man who had just arrived into adulthood, his features were a mix of intimidation, hardy and, judging from his real name, Ratonhnhaké:ton, native. The freckles on his upper face gave support to another element.

His way of speech was direct and fluent. Not that street talk crap most young people his age would slur out. Even when he cursed, it sounded grammatically inclined. It was, to say, clear and intermediate English.

And familiar, for there was only one other person I knew who had such a speech pattern.

But now was not the time to indulge on old allies. I had to answer to Radun's questions, especially now that I know who he was. More so that I know, even.

"Very well. I'm satisfied with your answer." My look more serious than before, I proceeded with the monologue. "The business titan has been searching for decades to further strengthen its influence and power. But their search was far deeper than the company, and more ongoing than even we know of. It's good that you're in a...comfortable position." A comment on the boy's strange manner of sitting, then I called out to the door Faulkner entered. "Robert! You might want to bring some refreshments! It's gonna be a long night!"

When I turned back to Radun, he looked puzzled by my suggestion, so I cleared it out. "The information I am about to bestow upon you will be misunderstood if I don't start from the beginning, so sharpen your ears now." A nod from him signalled me to continue. "When I said 'more on-going', I meant that it has been going on millenia after millenia, from the very beginning of history." I paused before looking at him with questioning eyes. "Are you familiar with the Knights Templar?"

The way his eyebrows raised meant it rang a bell. "Yes. My history class at the campus had a segment on that. They were even part of an encrypting discussion by one of our professors." Although he tried to sound matter-of-factly, I could sense the doubt in his tone. "Are they significant to your cause?"

I snorted. So sure did he sound. "Not just significant. They are the whole reason of our struggles. The Knights Templar." My expression was collective, like I was recalling an old page I read in a book. "History depicts them as a noble but disputed organization during the Crusades Era in the Holy land. People can't make up their mind if they were misunderstood saints or wolves wearing sheep's clothing or scavengers looking for treasure to hoard, what with all the different ideas people have about them. But this bit is certain: the French king at the time found an excuse to have them terminated and the Order was completely disbanded, which started conspiracies like the Friday the 13th myth, connections to the Freemasons and hidden bounty in the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem." Another pause before I asked, "Is all that I had said been taught in your classes?"

His right hand was placed similarly to that of The Thinking Man, deep in thought before answering. "More or less, yes. All that was taught to us. Though, I think one professor kept rolling her eyes the entire discussion." His last comment earned him wide eyes from me, but I quickly recovered before he even noticed.

"She should. Because after this, you'll most likely throw away every "fact" you heard from those discussions and never take part in them ever again." The bashful look he gave me was gratifying. I didn't have to say that he knew that this was going to be the eye opener of the century.

"In reality, the Templars were only using their identity as a Christian organization to hide their true intentions. While everyone thought they sought to secure the Holy Land for the Pope, they were actually searching. Searching for artifacts, but not Holy artifacts with promises of giving advantage to the Crusaders and spreading religious unity. They were artifacts far too complex for mundane thinking to comprehend. Artifacts that were made to give the wielder immense power and control over all of humanity. For you see, boy, the Order sought peace, but through control. They claim of a realization: that humanity can only achieve true unity if all were equal. If all were given their purposes and followed a set of rules whole-heartedly and without question. And to do that, they must take away from humanity the one thing that makes us what we are."

I stopped to take in his body langauge. If before, I told him to be comfy, he was anything but. Eyes fixated, mouth curved into a straight line, posture enduring, holding onto the chair to channel his anticipation as he waited for me to tell him more. And I beseeched him. "Our freedom."

His stare went down, absorbing. I gave him time while I thought to myself on how to go further with the discussion. Finally, he looked back up and said, "They...wanted to make us _slaves_?" The last word was spoken with disgust, but knowing the history of his people, I couldn't blame him for it.

Just then, Faulkner came out of the other door, carrying a thermostat, a bottle of water, some styrofoam cups and a foldable stool. As he settled himself, he propped up the stool and placed two of the cups on it. As he poured each up, I bobbed my head to the boy, hoping that my old friend would catch on and he did. Lifting one of the cups before offering it to Radun, who with a hurried 'Thank you.' took it an started to blow at the steam. Faulkner then handed me the bottle and hurried of, murmuring something about "pain killers".

I opened the bottle and put the opening to my mouth, taking small sips before talking again. "Not really slaves. More like...mindless, moving toys, so to speak." It was hard trying not to snort after seeing his reaction, but I was being serious here. "So, even after the public disban of the Order, it secretly carries on, trying to take back power from behind the scenes. And along the centuries, there have been recorded "incidents" and "catastrophes" that most never even think to connect with the Templars and our clash with them." I continued to name a good many: the Renaissance, the Inquisition, the Eastern empires, the Era of Exploration, countless revolutions and assassinations from both sides and even up to the Cold War. As well as all the subliminal messages and theories from the time passed. But finally, we got to the part where I would answer his questions specifically.

"And with the coming of the twentieth century came the emerging of the company that I have been atetmpting to sabotage for years. For the company, dear boy, was formed as a frontal cover for the Order. The largest pharmaceutical company to date, with every household in America having at least three products made by Abstergo. And you may have already figured this out, but it's been heavily involved with the international market and diplomacy. They do more than make antidepressants." One last gulp and I twisted the cap back on, saving the water to swallow the pain killers Robert would get later.

"Just recently, I have uncovered that their "video games" and "humanitarian medical research" are just a sample of their most in-depth innovation. Around the near end of the 80s, they have gone further with their genetic technologies, to the point of extracting information... memories even ... from a person's DNA." Halting the talk, I cleared my throat. "While we're on the subject matter, are you really willing to know all this? You're not going to fess up to anyone, will you?" From the situation, I doubt he would. That didn't limit my paranoia, though.

Radun's answer was well-thought out, if not with a hint of sarcasm. "I don't think I need to tell the police that I had helped a conspirator who may or may not be part of an underground resistant force and escaped the scene of the crime with me driving his motorcycle, _smudging_ the gears with my fingerprints."

Did I say sarcasm? I meant burning. Like the words had burned themselves into the conversation.

At least he was more than aware of the situation, sad as it is. I continued. "Very well. If you know what you're getting yourself into. Where were we...Oh, yes." My right hand went to the metal clasp on my arm brace, indicating it to the boy. The young man stared at it as I raised it to the light. "Do you know what this symbol represents?"

He eyed the clasp with curiosity and, hopefully, recollection. If he was who he said he was, then something will click. For now, his looks hardened as he stared down at my arm brace. "I...feel like I've seen it before... Somewhere. A long time ago..." Slowly were the words from, obvious that he still didn't remember it fully. But I trusted that he will.

It suddenly dawned on me that meeting this boy was too good a coincidence. It was a risk, but perhaps he will find interest in our cause.

And so I enlightened him more. "Me and Faulkner are just one of the many people who have dedicated most of our years battling this ongoing threat to humanity's treasure of free will. Conflicts between our kind and the Templars have lasted for as long as history can recall itself. Conflicts that, as long as there are people willing to fight for their freedom yet others will still try to demolish it, are endless." My tone was duty-bound, though I couldn't ignore the tired feeling I got after saying that. All those years... "Sadly, unlike out enemies, we grew little over the recent decade. In fact, those of us in the Americas are more scattered than they used to be a ten or 20 years ago. But we won't stop. Especially not with this new information I have on Abstergo."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Robert act similarly to my words, arms crossed and head bowed. We both saw the tragedy. Saw many of our brothers and sisters jeopardized and hunted down. Saw how the Brotherhood diminished into small bands. But before I could further go down nightmare lane, Radun spoke out again. "There's a rumor around the district that I work at about people leaking mind-numbing information from the company's research branch. Something about escaped patients being driven mad."

The fact that he had that knowledge quickened my pulse. it was close to the truth that I had uncovered. So close, in fact, that there was no way this boy had "just heard it" from rumors. But I tried to look more intrigued than troubled. "You probably never thought that those rumors could actually be... what was that?"

Suddenly becoming alert, I scanned the room. A strange noise made itself known all of a sudden. Faulkner had sensed it as well and we were straining out ears. Was it just me...

Or did I hear music?

"Oh! Right." I heard the young Native say. Turning back to him, my sudden halt to attention became surprise. He was standing up now, trying to fish out something from his jeans' pockets until his hand returned with a red cellphone. Triumph washing over his face, he clicked the phone into activation, but cursing slightly while muttering the time. 1:25, I heard him say, then he pressed whatever button would activate the call, cancelling the music I had now realized was an instrumental, and put it up his ear.

"Hello? Hey, umm...yeah, I got the ticket... No, no. The bus I was on suddenly broke down." Him lying about his location was quick thinking, if you ask me. "Calm down, Stephane! Look, I'm sorry for making you worry...Alright, alright! Just stop slurring. Yes, I can tell that those were slurs... Okay, I know you were worried." A tired expression was let out on his face as whoever was on the other line keep talking, him making hurried replies. "I'm just waiting for another bus. Okay. I'll call you when I get on it. I'll see you later. Bye." And with that, he finally ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. Then, with a futile expression, he turned back to us.

"So...was that your roommate?", half-jokingly I inquired. Looks like I couldn't give the boy the complete explanation to this mess I had unconsciously dragged him into. Sighing, I started digging into the pockets of my own coat.

"Umm...yes. I told him to wait up on me. I didn't think he would actually do that, but..." Not even bothering to finish his sentence, Radun adjusted his own hood, before he looked at me with exhausted eye. And, as if apologizing, he said, "I have to go, but I also have no idea where we are at the moment. It was too dark to remember any landmarks for me to use as directions, so I think I'm going to need a ride." He left off that part for it to sink in, but it immediately did and i found Robert and myself looking at each other questioningly.

"You go. Drop him off where he needs to be." I finally said, sounding definite.

After a few blinks, Robert's confused came off and he rebuked, "I'm grateful for the kid bringing you back here, but no way am I going to leave an injured old man all alone in a warehouse."

"'Old man'?" I snorted back. "Look who's talking? No, you have to take to him home."

And before he could try to get out of that argument, I added, "If anyone finds those dead guards, most likely they'll find witnesses and if he—", I indicated to the almost ignored Radun. "—goes back near the station, they just might suspect him. And I think you know where that would lead to, yes?"

Hoping that it didn't sound as brutal to them both as it might have been, I waited for my friend to reply. As he reluctantly nodded, we both faced the boy again. He was awaiting a say in the matter.

Faulkner made to tell him first. "Alright, kid. I'll take you home. But we're taking a very quick route to wherever it is you live at. Now wait here." That said, he went over to the cups and thermostat and tidied everything up before moving away from the chairs. I heard him call out, "I'll send in one of the boys to keep an eye on you, Bloodhound!" before disappearing from view.

I and Radun were left to regard each other. It had been an interesting meeting for both of us. The silent exchange of looks was very unnerving, more perhaps because we had gotten to know our own shared issue with only a few hours of knowing each other than anything else. Inhaling slowly, I broke the silence once again.

"I'm sorry if whatever information I've shared with you may also get you into harm's way. But I believe it isn't legit for you to not know what you got yourself into, saving my life." It must have sound sarcastic at some point, but I really felt guilty about him getting involved with my mission. I was just ashamed that I didn't do his curiosity justice and he had to leave, still questioning the events.

But the boy's reply was surprisingly firm. "Please don't apologize. It was my impulsiveness that dragged me into your endeavour. But I don't regret saving your hide out there." And then his eyes, for the first time since we had met, stared directly at mine. Then, half-heartedly, he chided, "At least some light has been shed on my inquiry, no matter how many unanswered questions are still left." Then, to my surprise, he did a quick bow at me before raising up, his mouth curved into the smallest form of a smile. "You just get better, Mister Davenport."

For a few seconds, I didn't know how to react to that. Then, whatever light-headed feeling I got from it sank in and I smiled back at his altruism, shaking my head in amused doubt.

_Just like her_, I thought. After all these years. And the boy was living proof of her mark.

The object I took out of my coat was a card. Beckoning him to come closer, I handed it to him when he came near. While he read the card, I spoke again. "I assume that you are indirectly my responsibility now. If anything happens around your campus or neighborhood, don't hesitate to call. And perhaps we can discuss further about Abstergo. Maybe share more gossip about the company."

After tracing his sight around the card a few times, he pocketed it and looked like he was about to say something when a honk echoed through the warehouse. We both turned to look at the door and there was Faulkner, putting my motorbike into gear, waiting for the boy.

I noticed the boy stiffen slightly, looking at Robert and back to me. The look I returned to him was, for my part, authorizing but comforting. "Go,", I assured him. "Wouldn't want to worry your friend now."

His posture was more conflicted on whether to leave or not, but before he went off, he faced me and, right arm stretched out with some hesitation, offered me his hand. "It was nice of you to take your time with me. Thank you as well."

Now it was my turn to be unsure, but only temporarily. I chuckled softly before extending my own arm and shook his hand in mine. When he let go, Radun gave off one last look of indecisiveness before turning around to head off outside.

There he went. Back to his...oh wait. I almost forgot.

"By the way, boy—I mean, Radun!" I quickly shouted out to him. "What's the name of that nifty piece I heard from your phone?"

From where I was sitting, it looked like he was about to straddle onto the back seat of the motorbike. He may have heard me because the last thing I heard him say was "One Thousand Dreams by Feint!" before the roar of the bike erupted and they rode of.

'One Thousand Dreams', hmm? Maybe, will all the new gadgetry society offered these days, I would look into that.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Attucks National University, 45 minutes later<em>**

**_Radun's POV_**

Never had I been so happy than at that moment to have felt the dew-covered lawn under my shoes. Almost an hour ago, Robert Faulkner had driven me out of the compound, leaving Achilles there to - hopefully - wait for any attending help to arrive while we were on our way. But unlike my own careful but steady driving, the aged man had ignored the speed limit while choosing questionable by shorter routes, remarkably avoiding most, if not all, confrontations with traffic police. And all the while, I clung onto his body like a wet cat to a scratch post. (Funny, because the word "scratch" was involved in my name...)

Somehow, through some leaked thought from my latching, I had asked Faulkner to slow down when we had passed a gas station. Thinking a tank refill was actually in order, he slowed the bike down and eased into the self-service aisle. As we both got off, I asked about getting something from the nearby store, but he commanded that I was to stay here and refill the tank, probably paranoid that I might bail and warn the nearest authority figure of what I had learned.

But with the current situation in general, that was unlikely. I insisted that he go into the store for me then and, while he begrudgingly murmured about my "yellow-bellied death grip on his sides", stomped towards the glass doors and entered the store.

When the tank was full and we had paid for both the gas and the item he had purchased for me, we were off again, only this time I wasn't as clingy and praying to the spirits for dear mercy as earlier. Eventually, the road became more familiar and the scenery of my campus came to view. And now, I was off the bike and relished the slippery feel of the wet grass under my soles. I turned to Faulkner to voice out both gratitude and an apology, but he held a hand up to stop me.

"Look", he spoke, bemused. "I have to be off again. And quick. If you should know anything about my and Achilles' enemies, it's that they have eyes and ears everywhere. I can't idle for long, so farewell for now." When he finished, I didn't argue further, but merely nodded my understanding. Perhaps that was enough of a 'thank you' for him, because before he thrashed the side bar, I saw a smile under his the visor of the helmet. Then he drove away, him and the bike diminishing from my view.

Finally. Home. I took a deep and long breath, repeated the process to get the previous happenings out of my system for even a smidge. Then I tore my gaze away from the road and turned around to face the four-story dormitory building. It still had a few windows lit up, indicating that sleep was not an option for some of the other occupiers. As I eyed the entrance, I saw that the main hall of the first floor was lit brightly. Good. that meant the guards were still awake.

Perhaps it was the anticipation of some decent rest, but my feet started for the entrance immediately, shoes probably muddy from crossing over lawn but I could care less for it. Soon, I was near the entrance when I heard some ramblings from the hall. French ramblings.

Before I knew it, a familiar figure stopped arguing with one of the guards and spotted me. For a moment, I didn't know what his face was expressing, but as he paced towards me, I could clearly see it. Was it worry? Relief? Anger?

* * *

><p>Unforgivingly, it was a mix of all three.<p>

After I had hung up on him, Stephane left confused, then eventually anxious and worrisome, about my current location. More than an hour later, because I still wasn't home, he grew impatient and called me while I was still at the warehouse (I didn't tell him about that and just said, again, that the bus I was boarding had a malfunction.) But his uneasiness grew and he decided to wait at the guard's station, pacing about. When the guards had tried to calm him down, he heatedly declined their offers and eventually, grew so impatient and aggravated that he started his well-known slurring montage.

So when he finally saw me approach the building, he didn't hesitate to fast-walk towards me. But from the relief that first washed over him, my roommate snapped and started lashing at me with angry but concerned barking. He cursed me for cutting him off, the fact that he was worried guilty and sick pointed out, especially when I answered his next call so vaguely and left him at a cliffhanger. And a few instances, he had tried to lash his worries at me physically, punching at my arms when I wasn't able to dodge the blows. But I let him pour his fury at me. I more than deserved it.

While ignoring the weirdly humored tease the guards had given us about how we were like a wife beating up a husband who was caught coming home late, me and the Frenchman made our way back to our dorm room. (Stephane continued his cursing once more for a few seconds.) When we finally got in and closed the door behind us, he immediately slumped onto the chair near the desk, arms crossed and hard look still on me. "Well?" He curtly began. "Aren't you going to tell me why you took so long?" Although he was obviously angry with me, I noticed the slight hint of relief that, yes, I was finally home.

A soft, uneasy sounds emitted out of me, feeling the guilt and burden from causing him such disarray. I still used the bus maintenance excuse, but I suppose his still skeptic expression was to be expected. the bruise he had mentioned was indeed on his left eye, a cotton ball soaked with some Betadine taped near it to treat the swelling skin.

Then I suddenly remembered my backpack. I slid it off my back and arms before unzipping it, digging into the bag until I felt with my fingers what I was looking for. I took it out, then tossed it over to Stephane.

He caught the pack with both hands before eyeing it. Beef jerky. Just like he had ask, courtesy of Mister Faulkner earlier at the gas station. The hard expression lessened, but they didn't completely soften as he turned his gaze back to me, mouth twisted into half frown curve, brows inverted while he looked at me judgementally, then he nodded.

"Hmph. I had thought that you forgot about the jerky. Fair enough." Nonchalantly, he waved the pack at me before opening it, pulling out the first strip of dried beef, twirling the strip with his finger before taking a generous bite from it.

Relief washing over me this time, I dropped my bag onto the desk next to Stephane, then proceeded towards the bunker bed. Merely thrashing off my sneakers and stripping away the hoodie, I was left in my socks, shirt and jeans. Too tired to even bother with the jeans, though, I lazily made my way up the top bunk and just flopped onto the mattress.

Through a mouth full of jerky, I heard Chapheau grumble at me. "Don't think this means you're off the hook." The tone was less angry now, so I merely muttered my acknowledgement of his statement. Before sleep could completely wash over me, I took out the card Achilles had given me before I left the warehouse.

A decently printed card, it had a sleek, black, white and red design on it, the symbol he had seen on the bike, the arm brace on Achilles' left arm, and from somewhere in his past, was placed in gradient rendition on the right side. The information written went like this:

**Safe-keeping the human evolution.**

**Hiding in plain sight.**

**Through the path of truth.**

**We are Assassins.**

**1-207-3336**

The new information would be realized in the morning. I did a quick prayer to the spirits before mumbling a "good night" to a still munching away Stephane and, then pocketed the card once more and allowed myself slumber.

**END OF CHAPTER 3**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's note:<strong> So... how many of you skipped the history lessons and how many actually bothered to read it? /SHOT

And, as promised, mixed POVs! Didn't I tell you guys? XDD I hope I had captured Achilles' personality in this chapter.

Okay, so some of you have probably figured out that Achilles knows about a certain Iroquois woman. Well, it's actually based off an interactive conversation in the game with Achilles and a bit of hinting from the game-to-book rendition "Forsaken". No other hinting from me about that, now.

And now for the info written on Achilles' card. Swear to God, tried to come up with a decent card to finally show that poof! they're ASSASSINS. And with some words based on the actual creed. But hopefully, I can make that work for the later chapters. As for the ringtone, I think it maybe have been too early for Feint to have made that song, but let's just go with it, ok?

And...phones! Pay attention to the usage of phones in this story, by the way. Not really necessary, but just try, I guess. :P

Update of next chapter: February 13-16. Again, unsure, but now that I actually finished this before the last deadline, maybe I can finally get my pace better in writing.

Also, would anyone like to become a Beta Reader for me? Even if I'm used to the English language, I still make TONS of mistakes while writing, but I don't always remember to correct them. So, um...anynone wanna accept the offer? Please?

Reviews and suggestions are welcome! Bye, all!

~Itchy


	5. Chapter 4: The Morning Routine

**Name of fanfic:** Dial-Up Assassin

**Theme:** Office comedy, Drama, Action-Adventure, Family/Friendship, Educational (?), Crossover (both the games, novels, and comic series of the fandom) and just plain humor.

First person narration. Mostly Connor Kenway's POV (Point of view), but it may change as the story goes.

**Warning:** Rated M for weird parodies, discussion of politics, cursing of sorts, violence and gore, racial slurs, implied shipping, occasional innuendos, writing errors, slight OOC-ness.

**Disclaimer:** Most of the characters are canon and belong to Ubisoft. I merely borrowed them for this fic. (Some of the characters you may THINK are OCs are actually NOT OCs.) And Connor's current nickname here is Radun.

**Notice: ** Aaaaaand I just realized that I am NOT good with summarizing themes. OTL Also, sorry (so much!) that this was 2 weeks later than the date I first scheduled it for. I was so distracted by my drawing tablet and Paint Tool SAI. So much fun and catching up on my part as an illustrator. Luckily, I'm finished with the other update for "Know Thyself", so I can finally continue on here. Also, laptop is fixed! MS Word is definitely gonna make this faster for me. XDD

Okay. Read on!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 4<strong>_

_**Attucks National University, Boston, Massachusetts **_

_**Three days later**_

_**Stephane's POV**_

It had to be the third time that morning that the stupid alarm clock was yammering up that awful ringtone. And for the third time, I tried to get rid of the fog in my sleepy head as my arm sloppily reached over so I could get a look at the time. I was slightly surprised by the lack of gadgetry, my hand roaming around the bare top of the night stand.

Slurs were ready to slide out of my mouth when I decided to actually wake up. Reluctantly, I raised myself from my slumber, stretching my limbs and letting out a whooping yawn. As my hand went to rub around my face, my eyes tried to make sense of the still-blurry scene.

When it did become clear, I had spotted the alarm clock on the floor beside the bunker bed, still ringing with the time blinking in green lines. The vague memory of knocking down the clock from frustration now came back to me as I bent over to pick it up. The green lines formed the numbers '6:25' with a small 'A.M.' found on the right side of the five.

An unpleasant grunt came from the back of my throat. This was college. _College_. Why, oh _why_, was I forced to wake up at a completely inactive hour? _And during spring break?! _

"So, you finally checked out of Hotel Dreamland?"

The answer to those questions came with a sarcastic but humored greeting.

I begrudgingly turned to the source of that young but husky voice. Sitting in front of our desk, the ever-enigmatic Radun was wearing a somewhat exasperated look despite it being so early. His hair was tied in his trademark half ponytail with the long braid hanging loose on the left side of his face. The crumbs near his lips suggested he was munching on some biscuits—or crackers, as Americans would call it. Wearing a grey sleeveless, white with blue stripes jogging pants, and black socks, his attire gave me the deduction that he was _just_ about to go on his usual morning routine.

But not without a warm breakfast, which was where I came in.

I gave him the most _'what do you think, you jack-ass?_' look my morning sag would let me muster up before putting the clock back on the night stand. Then I lazily kicked off my covers and swung my legs over to the side of the bottom bunker bed. Before I began rising up, I noticed that my friend had a briefcase open on the desk.

Sighing, I looked at him with concerned eyes. That briefcase had become customary of our mornings, but it had never failed to worry me. Filled from top to bottom from the inside with stolen snapshots, newspaper article clippings, and notes with scribbled information on them, the large carrying apparatus symbolized everything other people didn't know about the half-Native that I did: Radun had a grudge (an understatement) with the all-too infamous Abstergo Industries.

Long ago after we had first moved together, he eventually revealed to me his secret 'hobby' of keeping track of the events and updates concerning any suspicious activity connected to the company. He had begged me out of trust—of which I was more than honored to uphold— that I not utter a single word of it. _Any of it._

And to be frank, I understood his secrecy. I had my own quarrels with that company and it was no secret that there as something fishy going on with Abstergo.

Lately, though, his usual skimming of his conspiracy tabs was becoming more frequent. Instead of just an hour, he had spent several separate hours since he came home late with my jerky. My concern grew and I had constantly asked him about it, but he would merely answer with obscure dismissal or, annoyingly, ignore me altogether.

And I supposed today would be no different. As I stood up, I made another lengthy stretch and a very shoddy 'good morning' to him before facing him again. My concerned look earlier must have caused him to clean up and close the briefcase hurriedly, almost apologizing for my worries. Despite his tough and stubborn demeanor, Radun was irrefutably considerate sometimes.

After sliding the briefcase back under the desk, his mouth was about to open in speech but I quickly raised my hand to dismiss it.

"_Un moment_, my friend." I replied with some urgency. Then I went over to our shared drawer to take out my own training clothes and some bath things. As I made my way to the bathroom—You know, this was _exactly_ what I did three days ago. Just less hangover-induced— I turned my head to him, saying. "Let me wash the sleep off first. Then I can please your stomach."

He probably saw my snorting before I, like before, had slammed the door behind me.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes and a sink full of dirty kitchen utensils, me and Danohue finally got to breakfast. On our table were plates with breakfast burritos—no egg yokes, non-mechanically toasted slices of bread—because I don't believe in toasters, some margarine, a glass of mixed fruit juice—for Radun, and a mug filled with medium coffee—for <em>moi<em>. Radun offered to help, but I still did most of the preparing. I preferred being mostly in-charge of our little kitchenette, _hurr hurr_.

We were seated on the round, wooden chair facing the kitchenette. As I did a quick 'thank you' to the heavens, I peaked at the Amerindian doing his usual thanking of… the spirits, I guess. By now, I had deduced that his 'Nawa' or 'Nawen' meant 'thank you' as well. As we started devouring our burritos, I chanced a glance at him. Some pride clung to me, seeing his obviously pleased face at the taste, but his eyes were rather distant. Was he still thinking about last time? What exactly happened before he came home with my jerky?

As if sensing my gaze, his brown eyes shifted upwards just as I turned away. Whatever was going on, I didn't want it too look like I was imprudent.

Me. Stephane Chapheau. Imprudent. Well, perhaps occasionally I was, but that was justified in this situation.

"Umm... Stephane?" he spoke up a bit sheepishly.

"What do you need, Radun?" I answered, trying not to sound too anticipating.

Turning back to him, I saw my roommate fiddle with his hands in concentration, one set of fingers over the other with the burrito half-eaten in his grasp. As he collected his words, I took a sip from my coffee, awaiting his next statement.

I heard him gulp up some of the burrito before he spoke in an unsure tone. "About how I've been acting lately… There's a reason for that. I know, you've been nagging at me to tell you, but… I think I should wait until I can tell you in the words I know you would…_react_ to… properly." From the steam coming out of my mug, I could see the other's own worried look right at me before he continued. "I'm very sorry. _Very_. I probably worried you a lot lately."  
><em><br>'Probably' doesn't BEGIN to cover it._ I thought to myself exasperated. But at least he was opening up the topic himself. With a tiny smile and a sigh, I straightened out my slouched position on my own chair and leaned over for Radun to hear my words.

"Well, if it's something you need to clarify first, then I suppose I can forgive you for avoiding the topic." I half-joked, but the next set of words were more serious. "But I want to remind you that I've been at your sides since you first came to Attucks. Whatever it is that is bothering you—and maybe it's about that Abstergo thing, then—", I couldn't help snickering when he gave me a warning look at mentioning the company out loud. A small revenge for his ignoring me. "—just know that I've got your back." I reached over the toast and slapped on some of the margarine for myself. Then dipping some of it with my coffee, I took a bite before continuing with a mouthful of toast. "But you _are_ gonna tell me eventually…_oui_?"

Maybe his face became less troubled, but I still sensed the uncertainty. Still, he nodded, which meant that he _was_ going to tell me sooner or later. I was happy with that.

The rest of the our breakfast was done with idle chatting: talking about the frat who attacked our windows, noticing my almost-healed bruise, me teasing Radun about that _belle_ of a council president in his philosophy class, him asking about that bartender job being offered to me. Little bits of our lives sprawled out onto the table to be exchanged and conversed about.

At least this bit of our routine was something I would never want to change.

* * *

><p>I felt like my legs were burning.<p>

After breakfast, we had rinsed the bits and smudges off the plates so they could be easier to wash later. Then, with a competitive spirit, Radun had led us both down the floors after we had grabbed our water bottles and towels then locked the door and given the keys to the Monsieur Taggert in the guard house. And no sooner did I turn my head that the Amerindian was racing through the pavement surrounding the field, encouraging me to sprint after him. Our usual morning jog continued after that… Not counting my occasional hangovers.

No matter how often I trained with him, Radun always had the upper hand in these jogs. But then again, I wasn't exactly a track and field competitor for the campus, now was I? The boy had embraced the grass fields and high volts like a raccoon in air shoes. He looked so much bigger and older than his age tells people and he was almost as tall as I was five years his senior. And thirty minutes later, he was doing all too well with endurance.

A matter of which I really sucked at right now.

"Wait…Ah, _merde!_" I frantically panted out as I urged my already tired body to keep moving forward. "God damn it, Radun! Not everyone can endure this!"

"Really?" I heard him shout back to me from eight meters away. "Well, maybe you should have given consideration to lengthening our jogs! It's only been half an hour!" Even from a distance, I could hear the rare teasing he actually gave me back. He was jogging in place now, letting me catch up with him.

I grunted between harsh breathing and pants before yelling back. "Yes! Thirty minutes _straight!_ You don't even stop to have a five minute break!" Maybe it was because of his athletics, but damn it. I was in this damn routine as well. Some consideration would've been welcome.

"Don't be such a vegetable!", again, he urged me to follow. I quickly raised my bottle after opening it, taking a generous gulp of the mineral water. And as I whipped my sweat off, I looked onward to him. _I'll show you who's a vegeta—_

Oh.

While I was resting, the boy had continued his jog. Or rather, continued with a few meters. Because someone was walking along the fields, absentmindedly reading a book. And as luck would have it, he crossed over the same pavement Radun was just about to jog through. Seconds later, they had collided against each other, the Amerindian knocking over the other guy, both dropping onto pavement and grass as the book and a briefcase I had just noticed were flung into the air. Alert, I quickly sprinted over to their direction as I recognized the person he had bumped into. I had better hurry before things went uncomfortable.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Radun's POV<strong>_

One minute, I was taunting Stephane about being a vegetable—which he _was_, mind you—before I had bumped into something, or rather, someone. I didn't have enough time to recollect myself and we both stumbled onto the ground, me landing on the other person. After finding my bearings, I grunted as I raised myself halfway, then my eyes went over to a book lying on the ground next to us. The black cover with a heart or apple torn in half on it had the title "Beyond Good & Evil" in white mixed-font letters. A bit to the right and an ebony briefcase laid discarded on the ground next to the book.

Perhaps it has useless, but I turned over to the other… And greatly wished I had told myself to run.

My vision was welcomed with slightly graying brown hair that was slicked back, skin not so pale but enough to make its palette obvious, white long-sleeved shirt buttoned up and tucked in, dark blue slacks and Oxford shoes. And eyes blue enough to pierce the defensive walls I had perched up around me. All these I had spent two semesters trying to avoid futilely.

Feeling uncomfortable by his presence, I quickly raised myself and gave the man some space. Then, offering him my hand out of etiquette, I discretely said, "Sorry for that, Mister Kenway. I couldn't stop in time when I saw you."

Yes. Haytham Kenway, the current head of the Communication Arts department and occasional professor of philosophy.

Or in other words, my biological father.

The older man started rubbing at parts of his body that had the misfortune of hitting the pavement instead of the soft grass. After dusting himself off, he slightly rose himself and eyes my offered hand in scrutiny. Then his eyes shot up to my expression— I had really hoped it didn't show my discomfort too much— before his own eased and he nodded. A hand first went to pick up the book nearby before the other took a firm hold on my hand.

As I tugged him upwards, Kenway found his balance again and stood up with his usual poised manner. He then proceeded to dusk off some remaining dirt before addressing me, "No harm done… Except that I forgot to mark my page before our collision." He joked with tired humor before he went over to the briefcase and slid his grip on the handle and lifted it.

As he turned back to me, he looked like the perfect image of a modern-day scholar. And I _mean_ perfect.

The CA head looked back to me, his expression changed to some hint of apology himself. "Still, my book's misplacement is a small problem to burden myself with. After all, I wasn't exactly watching my surroundings either." He then looked me up and down, making it hard for me to hide my insecurity at being eyed on, before he commented idly, "Going on an early jog, Mister Danohue?"

"Well, umm…yes." It was all I could reply with. Like I said before, I had tried hard to avoid this man, with every time he and I meet an awkward mistake at best. Even with all his good manners and politeness. But I knew that those were all farce to his real self.

Not that I would let on about that. "Good morning to you, sir.", I quickly greeted as an afterthought.

The greeting might have been too much a welcome to the older man than I wanted it to be. His interest showed on his face as he replied back. "And to you as well. And speaking of which…"

A buzzing had suddenly stared. As if on cue, his hand reached over inside his slack's pocket before fishing out a Blackberry, tapping the buttons with both thumbs while holding both the phone and his briefcase handle—Honestly, how can he do that without feeling sore?— then stopping to look at me again. "I have an off-semester lecture on this book's theme." he indicated to the said book. "If, perhaps, you are free later—then again, this is spring break, but still—, you could turn up and participate?"

The way he had insisted on it. It was so charming and knowing. And this wasn't the first time he had invited me to such lectures. I both wanted to take him on his offer and toss it back to him in decline. Thinking of using a less harsh version of the latter, I immediately thought of my thesis.

Yes. Surely Kenway will understand the need to finish the damn thing. Understand my want for a high grade on my records. I started to form the reply in my head. Was even about to started the sentence…

"Hey! What kept you so long, _mon ami_?"

My sigh sounded too relieved, but to hell with it. Stephane had _finally_ caught up with me.

I looked over my shoulder and indeed, the Frenchman was making his way towards us. And right at the nick of time, too! Turning back to the professor, I saw him give my friend a disapproving look, obviously not enchanted at being disturbed from a rare conversation between us.

These two men both knew that I was, in fact, this Englishman's son. But in no way in this life am I ever going to open up freely to Haytham Kenway. About _anything_.

Which is why Stephane's intervention is as much of blessing from above as it gets.

As he stopped at where Kenway and I were standing, Chapheau began jogging in place, but I knew that was an act. Mimicking the same energetic mirth I had back at the dorm, he inquired, "So. Finally decided to take a break? Or do you still want to train?"

When I looked back at the professor, I almost wanted to apologize. It seemed that he knew that our conversing had to end here and the realization made him feel like he was losing his chance. And, maybe somewhere in his head, the words _'for now'_, gave him some last-minute reassurance.

Coughing to catch his attention again, I finally replied back. "I still have a thesis to work on, but I'll reconsider your offer, sir." My reply was as polite as my paranoia would allow me to.

It seemed like that reassurance in his head grew tenfold. He nodded his understanding. "Oh, hopefully you will. This week's topic will be a real treat for secretly intellectual students such as yourself. You can even bring your friend here, if he's interested." He pointed towards Stephane with less enthusiasm, but it was enthusiasm all the same. Another set of ears to join in the topic.

I nodded back to him and started moving my own legs. Then I ran past him, turning around to say, "Have a good day, professor!" We made our way. I could see the Englishman's figure fading slowly from my view.

As it completely disappeared, I sprinted a few more meters forward before absurdly stopping. Breathless, I bent over and put my hand on my knees, staring intensely at the cement and grass under my shoes as my mind tried to make sense of what had just transpired.

The occurrence finally filtered itself in my mind, my lips pursed tightly. My face felt like I was going to bawl out of the remaining jitters. I could feel and hear Stephane stop right besides me. One of his hands went to my shoulder, concern lingering in his voice. "Are you alright, Radun?"

And with that, I flopped myself onto the warm grass, hands covering my face as I groaned loudly after that little scene. The amount of relief that I felt was so overpowering, that I couldn't even keep standing and had to lie down on the lawn. I didn't even pay heed to Stephane's sighing as he witnessed me thrash on the ground.

That was close.

TOO.

DAMN.

CLOSE.

* * *

><p><em><strong>North of Boston, At that same moment<br>Achilles' POV**_

My telephone was just sitting there, waiting for me to answer a call. It was a smooth little plastic piece of media, red as a rose with black rubber buttons. It was once of those cordless phones that I could reach out and walk around the room with, instead of just sit here, being restricted by a cord.

It was positioned just a foot away from the center of my mahogany desk. And due to my little confrontation with Abstergo's thugs, I was limited to the _only_ kind of work I was allowed to do with such an injury: paper-pushing.

My discomfort did nothing to make time fly. Although my daytime job required me to do such tasks, I still longed to be out again in the field. The Brotherhood thought otherwise (Even before my injury, actually.), which is why the amount of paperwork I would usually brush aside for later were given my full attention. Well, with the papers stacked neatly on the other side of the table now, I grew tired and bored.

I started drumming my fingers on the desk, trying to keep a comfortable posture due to my injured leg nagging at me to comply. The call was supposed to be scheduled around this time, but it was waning with tardiness.

Finally, though, the phone rang, the digital tone going through my ears. I was a lot more anticipating of the call than I had realized earlier, my hand extending quickly over the handset and raising it to my face. I clicked the 'Answer' call after looking at the name of the caller with satisfaction and put the phone to receiver to my ear. "Talk to me."

A strong but respectful female voice answered back. "I've been ordered by central command to report directly to you, sir."

Of course, she was. I rolled my eyes. "What's your status update, Urban Dragon?"

"On that kid you told us to keep an eye on?" She sounded rather skeptical of that order, but her answer was affirming. "From the looks of it, this kid–_Danohue_, was it?—isn't your typical college student. He seems more wary than most of the students around campus. Even his French roommie is conspicuous."

That night, when Faulkner came back from escorting the boy back to his campus, I had delegated to the Brotherhood to keep an eye on that boy. Whether it was to make sure that he didn't fess up to the police about our encounter or because of my past friendship with his deceased mother I wasn't sure, but I had used the former to explain my decision to command central. Although, I believe Faulkner was more aware of the latter reason.

I hummed my understanding, just vaguely remembering Radun's phone call from the roommate he mentioned the other night. "Good. That means he's not careless and is more aware of his surroundings than most. What else?"

"Very decent student. Participates in the athletics department and the academic community. Kind of a favorite amongst the staff. Kind of an introvert too, but from what I hear, he opens up to friends. All-around nice guy, really. I'm currently observing his jogging routine...But we have a problem."

"Spill."

A gruff sound was emitted from the other line before my caller continued. "One of the Titan's operatives work here."

Groaning, I started rubbing my temple with calloused fingers. Of _course_ an Abstergo mole worked at the university. _They were everywhere._

"Any specifics?" I asked warily. The fact that Abstergo had eyes and ears everywhere didn't lessen my inquiry. It was all about _which_ one of those operatives worked there.

"The kid bumped into one of them just a few minutes ago. They seem to know each other, but that's probably due to a professor-student acquaintanceship. Besides, it seems like he's been avoiding the professor."

I grew concerned after hearing that. The mole _knew_ the boy, but if Radun had been avoiding him a lot, then it was our duty to ease him of his convictions.

"But from what I hear," I heard her continue, "from the faculty, the man was a recent addition. Or, should I say, a recent _replacement_. He's been a department head for only two semesters. Now, if that wasn't suspicious enough, his occasional lectures had many implementations."

"Oh, I bet they do." I briskly replied. Just think. A Templar, posing as a university professor and subliminally brainwashing the Order's ideology into the unsuspecting students.

But it sounded like Radun himself had deliberately tried to avoid the man, perhaps on multiple occasions. Taking a deep breath, I started to inquire the inevitable. "A name, Urban Dragon?"

I waited, patience slowly disintegrating for the other line had remained quiet for a long, painful moment. Finally, her reply came flat. "The professor's name is Haytham Kenway."

_Kenway_.

The grip I had on the handset clenched up around the device as I heard that bastard's name uttered through the receiver of the phone. Now I understand. Radun being resisting to his professor's invited to lectures. And my conversation with the boy the other night came back to him, answering that, more or less, what his professors—and I'm willing to bet on my broken leg that he specifically meant Kenway—were teaching him about the Templars was almost _exactly_ how I had described them hypothetically. And then I found the connection between him and the Master Templar.

My thoughts somewhat went to Kaniehtí:io. When she, as a young woman, had asked me personally to not think so harshly of the man. She didn't know back then. Probably never found out. And then it went to my memory of her supposed funeral.

And of a little boy among the mourning… who looked almost like her…

"Sir?"

Urban Dragon's concerned tone brought me back to the present. Loosening my death grip on the handset, I took a deeper breath than the last before looking down on my left vambrace, the Assassin's insignia shine making reflected light from the fluorescent lamps bounce on the opposite wall. Then I finally found the order of words I had wanted to carry out.

"Report back to The Warehouse tomorrow evening. We need a proper plan to carry out, now that you have revealed this much. Before then, keep an eye on the boy." Then, as an afterthought, I added, "How _is_ the boy currently?"

I believe I heard her snigger softly. "Somehow, his friend had prevented their stand down with the Templar. They had just gotten far enough to be out of sight from Kenway in their jog. It…looks like he toppled onto the grass, sir. And he's just…rolling around it. The roommate's just _watching_ at him."

Well, that was a weird turn of events. My frowning integrity of the situation had now turned into amused imagery of Radun, a young adult, rolling around on a campus lawn. Perhaps his friend was being tolerant of his roommate's random collapse.

"I can daresay he _definitely_ has no interest in Kenway. Anymore to report?"

"None for now, sir. It's still morning, so I'll make a full report of the day later."

"Good. Keep your cover until further notice."

"Yes, sir. Over and out."

And with that, I ended the call. As I returned the handset, my fingers once again went to my injured leg. Finally getting tired of this office, I picked up a cane that was standing by the desk and briskly got up to move. Maybe do some of the therapeutic exercises instructed of me.

**END OF CHAPTER 4**

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's note:<strong> The word 'merde' means EXACTLY what you think.

That bit where Ratonhnhak_é_:ton/Connor narrates his collision with Haytham was rather tricking. I had to re-imagine it a few times before I finally got to writing this chapter. (And also try to make Haytham's English as clear and refined as I could without overdoing the formality.) And if any of you were taken aback when I tossed the first few light-hearten POVs into Achilles' more dark-toned POV well… I needed to toss it. I'm still sorry, though. OTL

_Next update: March 16-18, again, close to the weekends. And I need a lot of time now. I've gotten really serious with my illustrations recently. Anyone curious can go visit my deviantART account. :D_

Reviews and suggestions are welcome! OuO)/

_~Itchy_


	6. Chapter 5: Topic Participation

**Notice:** Yeah, I think you guys get what this story is about by now, so I'm not even gonna bother with the details from now on.

Also, little bits of interruption into the present time before going back to the past, where most of the story takes place.

And as always, apologies for the late update. I had my "gamer's face" on with Tomb Raider...OTL

Prepare yourselves for a long read. This one just passed 5,000 words because I wanted to getsome...context?

Read on!

* * *

><p><strong><em>Chapter 5<em>**

**_Present day..._**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Main building, Abstergo Industries, New York<em>**

**_December 31, 2013_**

I look at the watch on my wrist and read '11: 54 P.M.', only a few more minutes before New Years'.

My lips purse, keeping a mental not to count the time in my head from now on instead of constantly looking at my watch as to not let Haytham notice the quirk. I then gaze back at the man, eyeing his anticipating composure, waiting for my reply.

"You think you can just take me hostage and the company will give way for you _that_ easily? You're pushing your luck, geezer.", I snap back at his proposal. And with reason: before commencing the operation, I made everyone at Command Central swear that if I were captured, they were to decline any ransom offer Abstergo's main puppeteer would dictate in exchange for my return. Luckily, they all forced themselves to believe that.

If they were assured that I _would,_ then the plan would be compromised.

Just waiting for a sign...

Eyes going dark, the Templar Grandmaster takes my rebuke with a slightly annoyed look, more for my making fun of his age, probably. A tired sigh comes out afterwards before he unfolds his legs, sitting straight before leaning over.

Then, he says in that business tone of his, "Must you be so inconsiderate? We're offering a brighter future for Homestead Connections. A cooperative partnership at a global scale! And you're willing to decline such an offer, like that ignorant mentor of yours did." He stares at me, mocking disbelief washed all over his face before continuing. "A shame, truly is. Perhaps if you didn't have such unrealistic ideals. That _confounded_ Brotherhood of yours, foolishly working in the shadows despite not using your company's own influence to broaden it. But no waste on _our_ part."

And then he gives off that smug and taunting look, a tiny shine in his eyes while his mouth curves into a sickening smirk. But I had to harden my composure at it. The longer we took, the more time I can give the others.

I muster up an unaffected stare, though my gloved hands clutch at the metal armrest at that insult to Achilles before I speak with some spite. "That's because we aren't cowerng ingrates who would give up everything just because it would get us out of trouble _we _didn't cause. We worked hard to get the company back on its feet. Gave so much for it to have reached _this_ far. And in no way will we agree to just give it away to the _very_ cause of its decline in the first place!"

I can feel my teeth clench while saying that last bit. As I gaze at him with infuriated eyes, waiting for him to reply. All he does, though, is shake his head in a disappointed manner. At least that smug look is gone before he starts talking again. "Albeit, we had wanted to do business with him, ignoring his futile alliance with the Assassin cause, the company had only suffered to ensure that he surrenders. Of course, I saw it fall to pieces the minute the board of directors suggested the decision. After all, look where it brought you and me now, son—"

"Don't you call me that. I've severed any past ties you and I had shared before. You have NO FREAKIN' RIGHT to call me that."

Right there, I want nothing more than to wretch myself out of this stupid contraption and shove back his taunts with my punches, forgetting all those times I had tried to reconcile with him, thinking that, somehow, I might actually live peacefully with this man and now just want to shut him up.

But no. Patience must be kept.

Sadly, I am not a patient man...

* * *

><p><em><strong>Back to the past...<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Attucks National University, Boston, Massachusetts<strong>_

_**Two days later, March 8, 2008**_

_**Radun's POV**_

Dressed in burgundy jacket, navy blue jeans and grey Converse shoes, I carried my blue backpack about idly around campus, near the John Hancock building.

For all the glances I would give clocks and watches, I kept forgetting to take note of the date and not just the time of the day. I needed to change that, so I had edited the clock settings on my phone, laptop and digital watch to make it more obvious.

Today was the second Saturday of March, which meant that I had the weekend off from my internship. And it being mid afternoon, I took a slight break from college work as well to go about the campus. The sun was awfully bright and searing in the afternoon, so there were very few people out on the fields at this time. Maybe before dusk, some of them will come out.

(Some of the professors had suggested me this because they noticed how fatigue-induced I had been since Spring Break had begun, ironically. And _of course_ I didn't tell them about my encounters with the Assassins and my continued freelance investigation of Abstergo Industries.)

At the Business Administrations building, my eyes had scanned over e various ads and reminders plastered all over the bulletin board near the front entrance. I skipped some organization notices and scheduled remedial charts to lock my sight on one well-edited flier. It read:

**_"To better understand the world, one must accept even the most unsightly of realities."_**

**_Join the discussion on Perspective on the Human Impact_**

**_Session will be headed by Head of the Communication Arts Department, Mr. Haytham E. Kenway and Representative of I.T., Ms. Sherill Jun_**

**_To be held at the MCR1 at 2:00 P.M. this Saturday_**

Two o'clock, just a few minutes from now. I wonder...

"I didn't know this place had a room for emo rock music." A male voice said to his left. I turned my head, confused before speaking, "What?"

The boy to my left was only a few inches shorter than me. He looked roguish in his flanel shirt, cargo pants and brown boots. One hand held his burlap sac bag while the other went over his cropped ebony hair as he took to look back at me. Then snorting, he chided, "You know, MCR. My Chemical Romance. The emo band!"

I _did_ know, which earned the boy a disenchanted look from me. Was he serious?

Bit then he let out a sigh and said, "I know what MCR here really means, alright? It was a _joke_, man." Then he looked me up and down before his eyes went wide with some recognition, "Hey, you're from track and field team, right?" He extended a hand to me rather confidently, smile lopsided. "I'm Clipper. Clipper Wilkinson."

My brow crunched up as I took in his name. Wilkinson. Where had I heard that name before...

Hesitantly, I took his hand and we shook. As we let go, I said. "Ratonhnha—I mean, Radun. Danohue. Nice to, umm, meet you." I tilted my head to him, still trying to remember why his name lit a dim bulb in my head. "Your name sounds familiar—"

"Aye yo, Wilks! Where ya been?"

Me and Clipper both turned to the direction of that voice. Over at the grass field, Sir Lawrence of the Night Of The Wet Shirts and Sandwiches was fast-walking towards us in the university's red and gold baseball uniform, holding a bat over his shoulders. I deducted that "Wilks" was short for "Wilkinson".

Now I remembered: Clipper Wilkinson wasa third year college student and baseball scholar, one of the better pitchers of the 'Attucks Fighters' baseball team. I turned to Clipper (Seriously. That was a _name_?) He didn't seem too glad to see Lawrence come up.

"Looks like the team's got another practice run." He sighed out looking back up to me. "It was nice to finally meet "The Bionic Mohawk".

"Excuse me?" I asked, rather confused.

The other boy merely cackled. "We call everyone in the track meet "bionic". _They_ call you Mohawk." He thumb-pointed at Lawrence, who had just stopped at our spot infront of the bulletin board.

Even from under the cap, I could still see (with a little smugness) some of the bruises from his brawl with Stephane and the dorm tenants. Lawrence flashed me a toothy grin, tilting his cap.

"'sup, Mohawk Boy?" He tauntingly greeted before turning to Clipper. "Come on, kid. We've got practice back at the Diamond at two thirty later. Gear up!"

He tossed the bat at Clipper. The other had caught the bat with ease before shaking his head and said, "Yeah, yeah. I didn't forget. I'm coming, Lary."

As he and Lawrence started making their way to the field, I saw Clipper make a final glance at me before sprinting towards where the baseball diamond might be.

Wonder what got Lawrence on his bad side. But I didn't have time for it.

Taking a deep breath, I took a quick look at the flier before humming thoughtfully.

Maybe. Just this once.

My feet turned around towards the staircase and I made my way up to the second floor, where the Multi-purpose Conference Room was located. Taking a step out of the staircase, I looked around and sure enough, there was a small line of students, waiting for the doors of the room to open.

Adjusting my backpack's straps, I hesitated before walking over to the end of the line. As I leaned on the wall to join the rest of those waiting, a girl infront of me spoke to her friend in a British voice.

"What's taking so long? Professor Kenway's usually not this late."

Wait. I think I knew that voice. A small pang of glee made itself known as I took to replying to her indirect question, pseudo-cooly. "It's only been a minute from two o'clock. Even _he _can't make everyone happy."_  
><em>

_That _got her attention. Upon hearing me speak, the girl turned her head, looking at me over her shoulders before recognition sparked in her eyes and then she fully faced me. Chestnut hair tied in a half-braided pony tail, fair skin, and a pale tan vest over medium-length red dress, Student Council President Eleanor Mallow looked surprised to see me. But it soon turned into intrigued welcoming.

"Good day to you too, Mister Danohue." She cheekily greeted. "Funny. I don't think you're the kind of chap who'd humour these kind of agendas." Hands in her hips, Eleanor swayed over around me, getting weird giggles from her friend up front.

I shrugged and titled my head. "I'm taking time off. Besides, I've been invited to a previous topic forum but couldn't make it. I thought maybe I could catch up? Not a problem, right?" I could feel my cheek twitch from my shy smile.

Nodding her head, she chided, "Always knew you had an inner philosopher in you. Good that you're actively fighting off your jock stereotypes."

"Oh, he is beyond the stereotypes, Miss Mallow. I can assure you that."

Before I could reply, another male voice responded first for me. Another _English_ accent. I tried not to flinch as I turned about to find Kenway, holding a white laptop and his trademark briefcase with him. Today, he was wearing a navy blue fedora that partially shadowed the pleased expression on his face.

Then, a calm curve formed on his lips as he spoke, same formal tone as those days ago at the field. "It's rather intriguing that you finally decided to come to my conferences. But nevertheless, I'm glad for more students who are taking part on the topic."

His free hand reached over to pat my shoulder and I just slightly held myself enough to not flinch and shake his hand away. As he let go, I bashfully looked at our shoes, not daring to make eye contact with him. When I looked up again, he was already making his way towards the doors of the conference room.

Another professor, the short-haired Miss Jun, I recognized, came out of the room to welcome us. She was wearing a pastel violet blouse, cream slacks and low pumps. Casual enough for the season but authorizing enough to be deemed part of the faculty.

"The projector's up and ready, sir." The Chinese woman nodded at Kenway before ushering the students into the MCR1.

With a last lift of his fedora at me and Eleanor, Haytham made his way into the room, welcoming each student inside.

Getting over my shock, I followed suit with the others but halted as I felt someone hold onto my arm.

"It's only a miracle that an enigmatic person such as yourself comes by these forums." Eleanor's sophisticated speech rang before she gave a mock tug at my arm. "You are to sit with me and Surry over there." She indicated her friend, an African-American girl, wearing a white blouse, skinny jeans and some kind of fashioned high heel shoes. She was shaking her head at me, as if feeling sorry for a captured animal. "And don't you try to talk yourself out of it."

And knowing Eleanor, I might as well have been one. Not that I wanted to escape, though.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Mallow."

* * *

><p><em>"People often claim some form of altruism —or, as Machiavelli argued, apathy—to justify their actions towards others. But it should not be ignored that a person's sense of necessity overcomes their sense of morality. Or even the lack of it."<em>

Right now, it'd been thirty minutes since I had first entered the MCR1. The room was sparsely occupied and only a third of the chairs here were used. The only light source in the room was mostly the projector, but some of the students' phones also illuminated their faces while they were using it. I'd taken a seat out of curiosity (taking a seat next to two female students was an unexpected plus, though), but now I was rather enamoured around the discussion.

But it wasn't because I was agreeing to everything Kenway was discussing while dictating pointers from the projector's screen.

In fact, every time he gave an observed say of the topic, I would filter it in my head, often coming to an opposing conclusion of his words. Humans may think they live for the sake of existing, but there is more to existence and I've been itching to raise my hand to go head-on with his forum, but no matter how restless my inward arguments might have gotten, I wasn't about to propose any of the it lest I get the attention of the man whom I was too paranoid to be noticed by.

So mostly, I kept quite, intent on the topic being discussed as my elbows rested on either arms of my chair and my hands clasped together under my nose.

"You seem in rather deep thought." I heard Mallow say from my right. "Care to share your realisations with the world?" My eyes looked to the side to see her curious but composed glance. Surry was at her other side, nodding at every little syllable the professor was emitting. God, it was hard not to roll my eyes at that with Mallow between us.

_"And to disappointing heights, humanity cannot fathom that their wants are seldom aligned with their needs. And as such, think the world might revolve around them and their desires, careless about the essentiality needed to properly comprehend their survival until it's too late."_

Hesitantly, I replied, "I want to point out that sometimes, a person can exceed and overlook their sense of necessity and so forth. Still, this being my first time in his conference, I'm afraid I might take everyone aback."

Well, everyone except Miss Jun. Occasionally, she could be seen having a mini-showdown with her fellow professor. I kind of look up to her for that.

The SCP beside me merely shook her head. "I understand that you're keeping your silence out of respect for the forum, but ignorances feigns the quiet." Her elbow started nudging at me. Again, I tried not to flinch (From recoil of the touch of the weird pang from being touched by-and TALKED TO-someone of the female species, I wasn't sure of.) as she continued. "Best you clarify it with Professor Kenway about what's clawing at your brain now and not during his 'question and answers' segment."

Even through the semi-darkness, I could just make out that look of expectancy on her face. I, in turn, tried not to look away. She wasn't just a pretty face. Eleanor Mallow was a headstrong leader and had that 'recruiting' aura no matter what she was going into. And right now, she was recruiting me to share my socializing in general is making me slightly jittery, especially since I wasn't familiar with most if the students here and was merely an acquaintance of hers.

_"Take the independency of the young adult, for example."_

As I looked back to the front row, a slide with pictures of a male student popped up. Moving out of his home, trying to finance bulls in his new apartment, getting a job, and various 'wants and dreams' inside a thought bubble coming out of his head. The situation felt too familiar with me and Stephane that I grunted at the reference uneasily. Kenway continued.

_"Now, the knowledge and experience of being able to be on one's own is important, but what's to say that while trying to accommodate, this young man overlooked the realities of his situation. Let's say out of the idea that he has his own place, the boy throws a bash in his new apartment. He doesn't anticipate the cleanup he has to do, then the payment of food and party essentials, things his parent would have known to finance properly. He gets a job that, sadly, only gives him the tiniest of incomes if my memory of the American minimum wage system proves right. And all his ideas of dreams reach are taken over by just trying to get by with the shabby budget of both his occasional allowance from his parents and the money he earns.__"_

A few laughs caught on with the reference. I, on the other hand, didn't find it funny. Ironic, but not _funny_.

I once again gave my attention to Eleanor, who was awaiting my say on the matter. A lopsided smile begrudgingly made itself known as I sighed, obviously defeated.

"Alright. But only one question and one answer. Then I have to get back to the dorms."

I straightened in my seat and unclasped my hands, barely taking in her amused look as I raised my hand. Was it me, or did half the room stare at my hand raising? The sudden silence that followed was kind of unnerving, but I kept vigil as Haytham, a flash of surprise and...was that pride? Honestly, the lack of proper lighting didn't help...scribbled all over his face. Toughening my composure, I rose up after he called me out with a "Yes, Mister Danohue?"

And with a voice not too loud, I spoke. "What you're currently speaking of, sir, is in constant agreement to the hierarchy of needs proposed by Abraham Maslow. Am I right?"

"Ah, you've caught on, young man." He took out his remote and pressed a button to take out the next slide: indeed, it was the very pyramid indicating the needs. He continued, "Now, noticed how I had used the original concept of Maslow's pyramid and not the revised versions proposed by later sociologists." This time, he spoke to everyone in this room. And indeed, many of us were acquainted with said pyramid, seems.

He went on. "This is to just take in account the very backbone of needs first. Perhaps, for the experienced adult, a more complex chart should be taken into account. But the young man in this picture has to learn how to balance the basics first before giving thought and sacrifice to more detailed agendas." Another push of the buttons and the slide showed a far more complex pyramid. Or rather, it was three different pyramids stacked into one upside-down trapezoid.

I tried not to frown too visibly. "Are you saying that we, as beginners in the real world, cannot take it to ourselves to accommodate variety in our young lives? That we have to wait until we get some high-posh white-collar job before we should even THINK about the highest tier of each pyramid?" If I had sounded like I was attacking him, then I didn't really care right now. So much for not going head-on. And _so much_ for the 'one question and one answer' thing.

"In some view, yes." Kenway stated without pause. "To be in this world, we must first balance ourselves with some leverage over our lives as a surviving species before entertaining any ideas of leisure. After all, do we not need money to buy CD albums? Is it not a comfortable and clean room needed to entertain and bond with friends? And is it not a tuition fee needed for you to be here right now, in this university? A need to get a diploma just to continue to suck it up to people who haven't yet given you the job completely?"

Immediately, my thoughts went to my internship. Went to how my employers and senior employees took me in, giving me work that I wasn't even getting paid for and wasn't even under my internship's criteria. I had to admit, Kenway's points all were in the right places.

With my own silence shoved off quickly, I answered back, "Yes. All those and more are right. But isn't the idea of innovation based upon the very leisure that makes us realize the necessities in life?"

At that, Kenway actually took a moment to filter in that info. The spirits damn me if I wasn't feeling slightly triumphant at my speech, but then he replied. "Yes. You're right on that one. But that doesn't excuse _how _one will achieve that level of achievement, academic or personal. Are you satisfied with my answer, so far?"

He was ending the conversation. For once! Now, I really felt air-headed, but I just nodded. "Yes. It was very informing. Thank you, sir." He nodded back, so I sat down again.

The man gave off a half smile before nodding again and going back to his lecture, using my inquiry as a topic motivator, but whatever.

I had to give it to Kenway: despite how I really don't want to be known as his son, he knew how to acknowledge a student's principles, if not to, ahem, harbor them.

For the nth time of that hour, I sighed in relief, finally having shared my opinions in a forum I was starting to grow restless over. I looked back to Eleanor and basked in how she reacted: either pleased with me or pleased with herself for convincing me, I couldn't tell...

"See?" She chided again as if I had found the ultimate truth. Then, crossing her legs again, she went back to notes-taking with Surry. The forum when on for another twenty minutes.

* * *

><p>Finally, it was over.<p>

We were all being herded out of the MCR1 as the professors prepared to clean out. Surry had excused herself, saying she had a tutoring session with a lower year and strode off after Eleanor had wished her luck. After she left te room, I realized that aside from the professors, me and Mallows were the only ones left of the audience.

"That was...very wholesome." I murmured. But what was? The forum participation or letting myself be dragged to sit next to the university's SCP?

As if laughing at a joke I didn't realized that I had said, she smirked. "I'd call it 'productive', really. Particularly with someone in the crowd actually being as attentive as I was."

"Oh. So, did you and Surry have a good-"

"No, no. Not Surry. She only came at my insistence, thinking the forum might give her pointers with Sir Kenway's next lessons." She corrected before inching abit closer, looking up to me with mossy green eyes. Then, she said, with a softer tone that was not her norm. "I was talking about you, Radun. You and your inquisive conversation with the professor."

My eyes darted sideward, not wanting to be captured again. She had never used my nickname before. It was always "Mister Danohue", but I let her be, thinking it was a formality as a council member. So now, hearing my nickname from her, in an encouraging tone (Why was it encouraging?!) and being so close to me made me uncomfortable. Which...was okay.

A smug chuckle got my eyes back to her and I indignantly asked, "What...What's so funny?"

The smile from the chuckle was still on her lips as she replied, "Oh, nothing. You're not used to compliments, are you?"

"Was it that obvious?" A sound from my throat confirmed how right she actually was. Again, the twitch of my cheeks threatened to return that smile, but then she suddenly looked worried. My brows furrowed. "Eleanor. What's wrong?"

She quickly looked into the purse she had and took out a two-hand cellphone, looking on in shock at the screen. Then with a groan, she replied back, "There's a meeting back at the council. We've another event for the university this spring break to organise."

It was almost heart-breaking to see Eleanor's expression. It looked like she was disappointed with her schedule, which wasn't the usual. "I better be off.. Oh wait!"

Turning about and bending over her chair as I looked on, confused with her reaction before she turned back to me, holding some papers and a pen. "I really need to go, so would you mind being a dear and have the professors sign these for me?"

It could be the pleading look that, once again, was not her habit, (Eleanor did not beg. Never begged.) but I nodded and took the writing apparatus From her. "Go on. You don't want to be late, like you had accused Kenway of." I tried to joke.

Rolling her eyes at me, Mallow bid me farewell and a quick "Thank you." before she fast-walked towards the door. As I heard the doors slam at her hurry, I looked down at the papers: apparently, the professors where to sign it as confirmation that the forum had actually happened and student participation was mandatory.

Wait. That meant that I had to go up to Kenway myself. Shit!

I groaned at the realization and craned my head towards the projector at the other side of the room and saw Miss Jun cleaning up the machine before going over to her. When she looked up after the last wire was looped neatly, the professor gave me a friendly glance. "Mister Danohue! What brings you here?" She straightened up and went over to me. My arms extended, I handed her the papers and pen.

As she signed then, not needing an explanation, I looked around the room. Haytham was nowhere to be found. "Umm...where's Professor Kenway? He needs to signed that, too."

"Good day to you, too." the older woman jokes and handed me the papers and pen before I could apologize. "He's outside, talking to an associate. Should be done by now."

"Alright, thank you, Miss." As she shooed me, I couldn't help but think how she was my favorite from the staff. Like an overbearing older sister. I left her to the rest of her equipment and ran towards the doors.

I was about to open them, hand on the handle bar but stopped. I heard Kenway's voice speak out. It sounded like he was talking to said associate.

_"I told you to come see me when I'm _not_ under cover, Chaswick! What if Sherill saw you?"_

_Undercover? _It felt wrong, but I sharpened my ears to eavesdrop. The other man's voice rang out this time.

_"Yes, sir. I know how important this is for you, keeping an eye on your estranged child-"_

The voice had a formal accent, not exactly English, but borderline enough to still be American. Then, Kenway's voice indicated curt a scold.

_"Don't use the relationship ties that are not the point as leverage on this. You know how sensitive this part of Boston is for the company. And the Order."_

So Kenway _knew_ that I was his son but wasn't going to confirm it with me personally. I can live with that. But the other man's voice...it sent a chill down my spine. I had heard it somewhere before, but_ where? _And worse off, the other man, this Chaswick, knew about my blood relations to Haytham.

_"Um, of course. I didn't forget, sir. But this is urgent."_

_"How so?"_

_"It's Sector Fourteen, sir. An Assassin had infiltrated it a few days ago. They had tried to apprehend him, but after our search, we couldn't find him after he got out of the building. The only thing we found around the perimeter where... Two of our men, lying in a pool of blood."_

_I had enough sense to cover my mouth with my free hand before any yelp at the word 'Assassin' came out. And if the bodies they had found were an indication, they were talking about Achilles Davenport._

_"I thought our operatives were better suited for this. But this is an Assassin we're talking about. That sneaky bastard..."_

_"HQ wants an emergency meeting. Most likely, Davenport's got a hold on delicate information on the project being done at the facility. What are your orders?"_

There was a long pause before Haytham spoke out again.

_"Assemble the others. Go find Jenkins and Hildegard and we'll meet at the Figaro coffee shop. From there, we'll head to Sector Nine tomorrow afternoon. Tell them it's mandatory."_

_"Consider it done, sir." _Then, a soft humming, like this Chaswick guy was reconsidering his words before suddenly saying, _"Hold a moment. What of your cover?"_

_"I'll move my schedule. Not the first time I'd had to re-evaluate my time between the university and the board meetings." _

_Okay, I think this is a good time to interrupt_.

I eased myself away from the door, not even giving myself to think about what I've heard as I tried to keep a straight face and pulled open one of the doors. Then, with the papers in hand, I went out.

The warm air greeted my air condition-cooled skin as I spotted Kenway and Chaswick. The latter's slightly rugged black hair and dress shirted back facing me. With my appearance, Haytham leaned abit to spot me.

"Sir," I began, only slightly hasted, "the council wants you to sign these papers for conducting the forum. Please." Adding the last bit as a formality, I walked over to him and handed him the papers and pen.

As if he was used to such requests, he answered, "Yes. Of course." Taking the papers, he signed each of them while using the wall to our right to steady the papers. That gave me an opportunity to look at his Templar companion -yep, I've deducted that the man and my FATHER was a Templar.

My heart went to my throat.

The man was a fair Caucasian man, eyebrows bushy while his thinly shaved moustache twitched in suspicion at me. He had the Abstergo logo on his I.D., clipped on his shirt pocket. His full name was Chaswick S. Lenard.

The same name among the list if names in my notes, pinned on my briefcase.

"Here you are, Mister Danohue... Mister Danohue?" Snapping out of it, I saw that Haytham was handing me back the papers and pen. Ignoring Lenard's irritated glances at me, I took what I needed from.

"Well, now that _that's_ settled," Haytham said, breaking the silence that rang. "Chaswick. Perhaps we can continue our discussion elsewhere." It was a command, not a request. And I saw the other man nod in understanding As he was led through the hall. But not before Haytham gave me one last glance.

I watched as they went to the east wing of the building, waiting for them to turn a corner and be out of earshot. Then, I stayed there for much longer.

_What had I just heard?_

Trouble. That's what it was. But I may as well had already affiliated myself with the Assassins by just knowing about them. And now that I've heard those two men, it seems as though I had to do...something. _  
><em>

Shaking myself out of thinking, I started towards the staircase, then making my way down, two steps at a time. The papers went into my backpack, deciding to go to the Student Council's office later before work to hand them over. I needed to get back to my dorm and rummage through one of my pants.

I needed to get that business card. And then make a call.

**END OF CHAPTER 5**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's note:<span>** A cliffhanger appears! Choose your Poke—

Okay, I'll stop.

It's very hard not having a laptop to update the chapters faster, but I guess the iPad helps. OTL. Although, I kinda miss the old Acer I used to write the first few chapters of this story. Also, almost every named character I had introduced so far is canon. And if not canon, then inspired by the canon. Let's see how many you'll get it right. XD

_Next update: Hopefully the first week of April. Also, because this chapter along was just...wow. LONG. Took me the entire week to write after thinking up HOW TO WRITE IT. OTL_

Keep alert! And tell me about it.

_~Itchy_


	7. Chapter 6: The Rendezvous

**Notice:** Yeah, I kinda realized my cliffhanger in the last chapter wasn't THAT much of a cliffhanger. Still, we're finally getting back to some action in this fic. XD

That, and I've decided that this fic is probably gonna be 20+ chapters long if I want to satisfy my creative drive with fanfics. I still have two other to update and fics I want to do, but blarg. I'm brain-draining myself.

Again, update's not on time. Still, I'll keep going.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Characters so far:<span>_**

_Ratonhnaké:ton Danohue/Connor Kenway (nicknamed "Radun") - protagonist and narrator of most of this story. Currently an I.T. student in his last year. Native American of Kanien'kehá:ka and English descent._

_Stephane Chapheau - French-Canadian foreign-exchange Culinary Arts student. Radun's college buddy and dormmate. Occasional narrator. Often gets into fights with the frat boys._

_Haytham E. Kenway - Current Head of the Communications Arts department of Attucks National University and philosophy professor, but is secretly the leader of the Templars in New England (Yeah, I'm just gonna reveal this bit). Biological father of Radun. Migrated from England._

_Lawrence - campus frat boy and baseball player. Classmate of Radun in Calculus. Does not like Stephane and vice versa. (OC)_

_Taggert - security guard who works at the dorm Radun and Stephane reside at. (OC)_

_Achilles Davenport/Bloodhound - Assassin team leader in New England and possible family friend of the Danohues through Kaniehtí:io. Looks African-American but is actually of British-Carribean descent with American citizenship. Occasional narrator._

_Robert Faulkner - Achilles' friend and second-in-command. _

_Clipper Wilkinson - local third year student and baseball player. May be of Scottish descent. Sour at Lawrence for some reason._

_Eleanor Mallow - Student Council President, taking up Business Administration course. May or not be interested in Radun and vice versa. Migrated from England._

_Sherill Jun - representative of I.T. and Radun's favorite professor. Of East Asian descent_

_Surry - African-American student and friend of Eleanor. May also work for the Student Council._

_Chaswick S. Lenards - mysterious associate of Haytham Kenway's. Works at Abstergo Industries and Templar co-conspirator. Also a "suspect" in Radun's list of undesirables. (sort-of OC)_

_**Locations where the story had been set:**_

_Attucks National University - named after the first martyr of the Boston Massacre, ANU is where Radun and most of the student characters so far study. Located somewhere in south Boston. Semi-private (does that even make sense?)_

_The Warehouse - owned by Achilles and the first place Radun had heard of the Assassin-Templar conflict. Located somewhere north west of Boston._

_Financial District of Boston - Radun's internship is for one of the companies located in this district._

* * *

><p>Okay. Recap done. Aaaaand I think from now on, my chapters for this fanfic will be longer than the usual. I wanna squeeze in the right touch of events, so...<p>

Read on!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 6<strong>_

_**Unknown location**_

_**An hour later**_

_**Achilles' POV**_

"Alright. We already know that the Templars are planning something concerning genetics on their test subjects.", Faulkner, wearing the same dark clothing from last week, mused deeply as he indicated to the diagrams and information shown on the three screen monitors. "So far, they're planning to put it up as some video game for the public, but is there something more to that?"

We were sitting around an oblong table facing those screens. About a week since my unpleasant but quick escape from the Abstergo facility and we had decided to re-open the discussion about the information I had acquired. I could still recall the scolding I got (particularly from Faulkner) about how stubborn I was, going on that mission myself instead of assigning a younger (but very inexperienced) operative. But if I did, then that operative would have been in far worse conditions than me with my casted leg.

The screen currently showed a digital rendition of the would-be product Abstergo was planning to launch within the coming years: a machine that will allow the user to virtually experience memories from the DNA of someone who was a descendant of people who were alive during a certain era.

Or, at least, that's what we had deducted from the files I had collected so far.

"Perhaps it's more than just a cover-up." To my left, Louis Mills spoke out. "An e-mail from Erudito hinted that they 'won't allow' the subjects to be blinded further. It must mean that the Animus sessions they're hiring the patients to relive have tampered memories!" He exclaimed excitedly Before taking something out of his saddle bag.

He opened his own laptop to show us a print screened picture of the e-mail via Bluetooth on the screen. As the diagrams and texted slid off to the zoom-in of said capture, the cryptic riddles that was the norm of their discrete e-mails. It read:

_**Those who write history are the survivors of the times, but those who relive those times shall be further blinded from the truth. And we won't allow that.**_

_"Further blinded from the truth." _I uttered slowly, as if it were a mantra. "If what they're trying to tell us holds through, then that means this new product will one day start brain-washing the users. Hand me the laptop, Specter." I motioned a hand towards Mills and his laptop. He gave it to me without argument.

A pop-up appeared on the screen and a live-video footage of a woman started. From the speakers, her voice rang with some electrical buzzing. "Urban Dragon reporting. Do you copy, Team?"

I paused my browsing of the laptop's filed as I stood, with the help of my cane, to address her. "Hear you loud and clear, Urban Dragon. What's to report?" I asked flatly.

"Urgent discovery, sir. It seems as you were more than right to assign me to go under cover here at Attucks." Her features, though hazy, showed a hard expression. "Another Abstergo operative had been spotted. I saw him and Kenway walking side-by-side in one of the college's halls via the security cameras."

A pop-up asking permission to send a file appeared. I confirmed the download and the finished file played a recorded scene with two men. One of them was affirmatively Kenway while the other man was unfamiliar to me.

"I couldn't get a word of what they were talking about, though." Her tone turned bashful at her futility to eavesdrop on Kenway and his associate.

Robert stood up and edged his way to where I was, bending over to look at my browsing results before straightening up and giving a long stare at the footage. "Attucks is definitely on their watch list, then. Why else would someone as important as Kenway assign himself as a humble," he said the word like a joke. "college professor."

I shook my head at his comment, voice hoarse as I concurred. "It's best not to take his decisions so lightly. Remember, it was _him _who had almost succeeded in whipping our team off the charts." I casually pointed a finger to indicate the hazy image of Kenway such a casual attire.

A beeping rang out and took my attention away from the screen. I had realized that it was my communicator was receiving a transmission. All three of them looked at me as I coughed to speak up.

"You'll have to hold the video conference, Urban Dragon. " I said almost apologetically, taking out my communicator and connecting it to the main screen and then taking out my portable mic pin, clipping it to my coat vest before hitting the 'answer' button.

"Bloodhound speaking. State your reason of interruption, over." I let go of button, then sat down again as the receiver emitted the other's answer.

_"Head of Communications Module here, sir." _A young, male voice answered. He sounded stressed or rushed. _"We had received a call from an unauthorized source. It's from our old landline, over_"

The grunted sound coming from Mills was distinct. "Hmm. I thought we had that disconnected ages ago." The suspicion laced in his voice felt like a direct assault. To who, though, I cannot say.

We had wanted to disconnect it, but saw no use to is after we moved our based from its old location to here.

Again, I answered. "Can you trace where the call is coming from, over?"

I let go again and waited until operative's voice rang again._ "Yes, sir. Just give me a sec."_

"I know we've been raided once, but we can't possible be _this_ under-equipped." Faulkner sardonically commented. I didn't pay heed to his chide as the buzzing started again.

_"Sir,"_ , the voice began. _"I've pinpointed the caller's location. It's somewhere midwest of the city. A dormitory near Attucks National University."_

We all looked frazzled. The Assassin's old landline was only known to a handful of outsiders. And there was only one person I had given the number personally to.

_"What are your instructions, over?"_

The others then looked on quietly at me, waiting for my say in the matter. It took me awhile to get my bearing again before I pressed the answerbutton, harder and faster than I had intended, and spoke with a steady voice.

"Put him on speaker."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Attucks National University, Boston, Massachusetts<em>**

**_Around the same time_**

**_Radun's POV_**

Having sped past most of the campus, including the Student Council's office (mentally apologizing to Eleanor), I had made my way back to the dorm. Right now, I was in the bathroom of our dorm after retrieving the call card from the briefcase, sitting on the closed toilet with my cellphone pressed to my ears after dialing the number. Said briefcase was opened in front of me, having been dragged in her in case I needed to clarify my case.

The only thing that sounded through the receiver was the goddamn dial-tone. By now, my breathing was still shallow from the adrenaline of running through the campus in less than five minutes and the urgency I felt didn't help me relax.

_Come on... Pick up!_

With my other hand clutching my knee, I waited. The conversation I had heard repeated itself in my head and the details spiraled in my mind.

My father knew about me. In between shock of the fact or the relief of no more needing to hide it, I wasn't sure what to think of it.

He was also a Templar. Not that it mattered too much, but the Templars may or may not run Abstergo.

They were talking about Achilles' infiltration last week. I had helped the man escape.

That Lenards guy knows, too.

He and my father both work for Abstergo.

_**Abstergo.**_

That one word echoed tauntingly in my head even as the dial tone had stopped and was replaced by the all-too familiar sound of my call being transmitted somewhere (based on my course). When I did realize it, I suddenly sat straighter as I heard a raspy voice greet me at the other end.

_"Didn't expect you to call so soon, boy."_

The image of the old man in his white coat and the makeshift cast on his left calf made me want to retort on his words but my tone was serious. "This isn't a courtesy call, Ach-"

_"Bloodhound." _He said calmly._ "There's a_ reason_ to why we use pseudonyms here, child."_

Some air snorted out of my nose. Right. How careless of me. I continued. "Right, whatever. Listen, I know you gave me this number for a reason and while it may not be for _this_ reason," I bent over to retrieve a piece of paper from my briefcase, eyeing the names I had acquired throughout the years. "but I think this concerns your cause."

I think I heard some whispering in the background. Were there others with him? In case he might have dismissed my case, I beat him to his reply. "There were two Templar operatives here, one of them has worked here for two years now."

_"What?!"_ I had only faintly remembered Robert Faulkner's voice. Who else was there? I heard Achilles ask him to settle down before speaking again.

_"How can you be so sure, child? You initiative for espionage is admirable, but this Order will not entertain any false leads, particularly for a unknowing college student."_

Oh, screw it. I didn't have time to be lectured. "They _knew _about your infiltration last week! This facility you were talking about. And they called you by _name_, Bloodhound." My teeth gritted as I said the code name with enough mockery.

Only silence answered back. It must have worked, but I held my breath. Suddenly, more voiced, though vague, started talking in the background. Alongside Faulkner's voice, two others could be heard. One man and one woman.

I swallowed my spit in anticipation. Will they listen, actually believe that I hold valuable information? Or will they dismiss it, probably block my number if I made future calls? My eyes anxiously went to my list and then to the briefcase.

When Achilles spoke again, every word spoken was clear and distinguished._ "This isn't the most favorable situation to share your knowledge."_

My exhale was more than relieved. They didn't close the topic, so I pushed further. "Does this mean you're willing to listen?" I had hoped I didn't sound too hopefully and added steadily, "This isn't just my involvement in your escape anymore. These guys _work_ at or near this university. Knowing that anyone from Abstergo is here makes it my right to get involved."

I knew very little of this conflict the Assassins and the Templars have, but it involves Abstergo and this university. Again, I waited for Davenport to reply.

His reply wasn't exactly what I'd expected, though.

_"How do you feel about carpooling?"_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thirty minutes later<strong>_

_**Stephane's POV**_

Denis Solee played smooth jazz tuned through my earphones.I was practically waltzing my way up the dorm, feeling weightless and jolly.

The pub I had applied for the summer hired me at last! No more haggling at the tables at Burger King. This chef finally got a break!

Hell, I even waved at Taggert and the party goers outside the dormitory earlier, but they hardly mattered. I couldn't wait to tell Radun!

I didn't want to call him, opting to tell him personally and savor whatever reaction he'll give me. He'll probably start daydreaming about all the food I'll be making for him at the pub. The boy wasn't much for drinks, but food, well...

Just as I got to our floor, by some divine convergence, there he was! I got even more excited now, trudging my way towards him.

"Radun, mon ami! I have the most _awesome_ news, kid!" I started yelling at him halfway, my Caterpillar sandals' stomps echoing through the hall. "Remember that pub I told you about? The job's mine! Can you believe—"

When I reached him at last, Radun's expression was perplexed, somewhat shocked that I was there. He was wearing a gray beanie, a zipped-up red jacket, moss green pants and black boots. He even had his backpack with him. That in itself was an odd apparel for spring, but it was the object in his arms that shut me up.

His briefcase.

"Umm...", as he turned to me, Radun's expression was blank, but the tight embrace of that briefcase spoke of uneasiness. "I'm going out for a bit. Don't wait up."

My happy demeanor turned to worry and suspicious. Wait, what? He was going off again without tell me specifically?!

Face hardening from the worry, my voice crackled slightly from the changed in mood. "Where are you going off to this time, kid?"

But he pasted by me, the only answer to my inquiry a "I'll explain everything later. I promise!" as I watched him disappeared down the staircase.

I kept my gaze at the staircase some more, hands shaking. I had a very bad feeling in my gut about this. And indeed, I wasn't going to wait up this time.

* * *

><p><em><strong>West End, Boston, Massachusetts<strong>_

_**Less than an hour later**_

_**Radun's POV**_

The bus dropped me off in the rather shabby neighborhood, the slight contrast between the renewed buildings and the still run down ones evidence of people who could barely get squeezing in some of the buildings. The now setting sun painted everything in a warm orange light, but it felt colder still.

Going over to a parking lot surrounding one of the few older buildings that actually stood a chance against the renewal, I could see why Achilles had chosen this place: West End was still being renewed, meaning there weren't many people busying themselves in this part of the city. Maybe telling them about what I was wearing wasn't that needed as an indicator anymore as only a few cars and a bicycle were parked here,no bystander around except myself.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned on the wall of the building with one hand on the briefcase's handle and the other in a pocket, feeling my cellphone. I eyed the horizon patiently.

And now, the wait—

"Am I going to have to wait an eternity for you to tell me things now?"

I nearly dropped the briefcase when I flinched at the voice. Turning my head to the direction of that voice, I saw a figure going over to me from the pavement. As the person neared, my eyes practically bulged out of their sockets as the burning image of my roommate, navy blue shirt, gray jeans and hiking sandals all, made itself know.

And if looks could kill, then his glare would've incinerated me on the spot.

I tried to keep whatever composure was left at bay, but the queasy in my stammer was still visible. "D-Dammit, Stephane! You're not supposed to be here!"

He snorted at me, his jest like the ones he'd give before a fight, which I hope wasn't the case. "And it's _perfectly normal _for you to be here, caring _that_ around?", he pointed accusingly at the briefcase. "Don't screw with me, Danohue."

Oh, crap. He _never_ used my surname like that _before_. I tried not to look too guilty as I clutched the case in both arms and tried to reason with him. "Look. I know you're angry with me, but you shouldn't be here!" My voice wasn't exactly pleading. More like warning.

The scowl on Stephane's bearded face didn't lessen as he snapped, "Well, I'm not the one looking like a drug dealer here, now am I?" He took a step closer as I wrapped my brain around what he said.

I nearly face palmed myself. I DID look like a drug dealer. At the time, I chose this ensemble to obscure my identity and as an indicator for the Assassins, but now that Stephane mentioned it...

"Look, I said I would explain. I SWEAR I will explain!" I gave emphasis to the later, hands up in defense.

"Don't even try to give me that hurt puppy look. You promised to tell me 'later' and, ah ha! It's later!" his voice was still mad and then he looked at me with so much hurt, tone softer but still insisting. "Just tell me why, Radun. Tell me so that at least my worry won't be caused by useless speculation. We've been living together and have shared enough secrets now!" His jaw was set as he continued. "Tell me: what is going on?"

I forced myself to relax, the grip on the briefcase loosening. But I still had that hard line n my lips as I took him in. He gave me the most heart-breaking but threatening stare I had received in awhile. Another pang of guilt came, feeling ashamed for keeping him, of all people, in the dark for so long. I weighed my options.

I could keep it a secret and deal with this later. Stare down this dilemma until he gives up, even at the cost of his trust in me. Or...

I _could _tell him. Not everything, but just the bits that would make _sense_ at least. I'd have to tell him about rescuing Achilles, but that thought was absolutely going to drag everything down to hell if I told him.

But the decision remained unmade.

A commotion was happening near the street and me and Stephane both turned to it out of instinct. From afar, two figured were making their way to our spot, but were looking back behind them. I could make out one of the one in a dark assault outfit as Faulkner His companion was, still a few meters away... Holding something, pointing it at the opposite direct.

That's when we heard the first gun shot. The guy just barely dodged it and followed hurriedly behind Faulkner.

"Dammit, not _this_ again.", I steadied my stance, not even bothering to look at Stephane's panic as Faulkner made his way to us. He was definitely not happy, eyeing us both.

"I was...orderd to...pick up only ONE person." He was still breathless from the run, but still eyed us with scrutiny, then indicated to my roommate. "Who's he?"

Stephane snapped out of his daze to try and answer, but Faulkner shook his head again. "Not now. No time for niceties. We have to hurry." And without another word, he pushed us towards a few of the parked cars. More gunfire and some distant shouting were heard.

The one we finally stopped in front of was some Chevrolet. In my knowledge, it was an expensive model, but looked out of date enough to blend into this neighborhood without question. Faulkner frantically searched his pocket before he finally fished out the key, going over the driver's door.

I spared a glance to Stephane, regretting it as he gave me such a lost stare. I shook my head and mouthed 'I'll explain it later' before the passenger's door and the back doors were unlock.

As I made for a grab on door handle, Faulkner's other companion, whom I now see was welding two pistols that were still aimed at the direction of the commotion.

"Hurry up and get in, Ebony!" Faulkner yelled out to the guy before beckoning over to me. "No, you drive. Here!"

As he tossed the keys to me, I had barely just caught it as I looked at him confusingly. "What... What do you mean I'll drive?!"

But he didn't answer, grabbing my arm and dragging me to the driver's door before going over to open the passenger's seat and going in. The guy he called "Ebony" opened the backdoor and ushered a still shocked Stephane in, slamming the door.

I stared at the plastic-handled key in my hand. What is it with these people wanting me to drive through life-threatening situations?

A loud honk shook me out of my stunned moment and I turned to see Faulkner Motioning me to get in. "No time to explain. Just drive! I'll navigate for you."

The gunfire became even clearer and I quickly nodded, sitting myself and then closing the door. Okay, it had been quite a long time since I last drove a car and it wasn't even my car. But nearly tearing off the seatbelt from the car interior, I buckled myself in.

Just as I had put the key in, several figures could be seen running towards our direction. From the corner of my eye, I saw Faulkner take you. - to my slight horror -, a two-handed gun from the compartment, prepping up the ammo and lowering the windshield.

"Hey!" someone barked behind me. Looking up the rearview mirror, I saw Ebony's wild eyes. "Get driving! Do you want them to catch us—"

Something penetrated the rearview mirror to my left and through my panic, I started the car, going automatic out of fear. I got out of the parking spot and floored my way through lot.

I nearly jumped and slammed the brakes when I heard the two here beginning to fire back through their sides of the windows. Faulkner noticed this and shouted, "Nevermind us, lad! Just get us out of here!"

Barely nodding, I looked back to the asphalt ground before barging through, gun fire after gun fire hitting the spots where the car had just wavered off of before I got to the exit.

The guard was hiding in his booth, probably due to the loud gun fire. Without thinking, I hit the throttle again and, with a crack, broke my way through the yellow-and-black blocker. When we finally got onto the road, Faulkner's voice rang out.

"Head up north and whatever you do, DON'T STOP THE CAR,"

**END OF CHAPTER 6**

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><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>Okay, I'm more in favor of ILLUSTRATING action scenes than I am WRITING them out. And this was TREMENDOUSLY HEINOUS to write. OTL

Woot! Finally, getting to the Assassins again. While the last two chapters were mostly fillers, this one will start the upcoming plot-turners.

It was surprisingly hard to write a derpy young adult than I would with a trained Assassin. Why is that...

_Next update: Late April, hopefully. But by now, I've disappointed alot with my schedules. So...who knows. _

On a sidenote: I've made a poll for those who enjoyed reading "Know Thyself". Do go and check it out, please! XD

Alright. Two other fics to go. See ya-!

~Itchy


	8. Chapter 7: Trouble, Here We Come!

**Notice:** And so begins a more action-packed side (thank God, too) of D-UA (Thanks to swegm for suggesting this acronym. XD) And also more inaccuracies about Boston, but like I said. I've never been to the city or anywhere in New England (or America, for that matter), so do feel free to correct me on this.

Now, the first part of this chapter, though a chase scene, is just a bunch of descriptions with the occasional dialogue. (Albeit Ratonhnhaké:ton's/Connor's sarcasm. IDK, if you paid attention to his dialogue in the game, there's alot of dry humor in it. XD) But rest assured, all of it fits into the plot. If you want, you can skip to the next scene, but then you'll miss a doozy at the middle. ;P

Read on~!

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 7<em>**

**_Within the edge of the Shawmut Peninsula, Massachusetts_**

**_Several minutes and a handful of broken traffic laws later..._**

**_Ratonhnhaké:ton's POV_**

I couldn't remember most of the drive earlier. The engine roaring, the gun shots that rang every few seconds or Faulkner's hollered navigation made the blood in my ears pound too much.

But I _did_ remember that the car sped past much of the traffic and somehow made its way towards the Charles River Dam Bridge, making our way up north towards East Cambridge and away from our City on the Hill. And if it were a different situation, I would have appreciated the golden sunset more.

But I was in a speeding-past-the-limit old Chevrolet with two armed Assassins (assuming that Ebony guy was one, too), a horrified Stephane (who was too shocked and confused to even curse) and a small parade of motorcycles coming after us whilst shooting. And I was betting my minimum wage salary that they were Templars. My briefcase was on my lap, looped under the seatbelt against my frame.

When all this is over, I'm going to be a more careful and respectful driver.

That is, if I ever get out of this _alive_.

"Are they still behind us?!", I roared out, every muscle in my body bent on the steering wheel and on the bridge's road, maneuvering around all the other vehicles.

Two bullets narrowly missing the front tires answered my question. I wavered the car cast enough so the tires didn't get hit, but the quick movement nearly made Faulkner drop his gun.

Getting over it, the man quickly got back to position and started shooting again. "Keep going north!" he barked at me amidst the shot's bangs. "We should be able to lose them once we get to East Cambridge." He paused only slightly to sit back again to get another stack of bullets out to reload.

A quick glance at the rearview mirror revealed that one of the bike's drivers got hit, causing him to be thrown of his ride. The others merely went around and avoided the unmanned bike and sped faster after us.

I looked back ahead and held to the left, just _nearly_ avoided hitting a taxi. Not a second to relax as I yelled back at the older man. "'_Should_'? What do you mean _should?!"_ Half-way through the bridge and avoiding a dump truck, I demanded, "You better hope it should! Because I want to _at least_ get my diploma before I die a horrific death!"

"OF ALL THE THINGS TO GRIEVE OVER THIS MESS AND YOU BRING _THAT_ UP?!", Stephane screamed out from the back. He was in a state of shock for most of the ride, so that was the first I've hear him say since we were off. "Ei you, _batard_!" He barked at the man called Ebony this time. "You better get us out alive. I want a FULL EXPLANATION from ALL OF Y—"

He was cut off as shot landed to the left side mirror, causing me to flinch and lose my grip. The car swayed violently from the lack of hold so I fought down my panic and got back my tight grip, finally getting back on a straight path.

To my horror, police sirens could be heard in the distance, but I think our pursuers were keeping them busy since some of the gun fire ceased on our end. But finally, I could see the bridge end, but didn't feel any relief at the sight and kept my foot on the pedal.

From the passenger seat, Faulkner stopped firing to press a button on the radio dashboard. A small compartment I wasn't aware was there opened up to reveal some kind of wired device. I hurriedly looked back to the road, just _barely _missing the blocker as the gray-haired man turned the device on and spoke into a small mic. "This is Seagull with Ebony. We have the Package. I repeat, we have the Package—"

"And a side order, over!" That Ebony guy finished, most likely the 'side order' was my now-cursing roommate, who double-looped the seatbelt around him earlier. Both he and Faulkner resumed gunfire.

The communication device emitter some static before an unknown male voice answered, _"Ivory here! We hear you two loud and clear! The escort team is waiting for you at the end of O'Brien Highway. We've secured much of the perimeter and disabled the communication outlet of the local police station momentarily. If you can, Seagull, try to take a different route towards us. Steer clear of the traffic on the main route, over."_

A different route? Were they serious? But before I could ask, Faulkner already beat me to the question. He must have pressed the answer button again or something and spoke, "Will do, Ivory! I'll tell the Package which streets he should make turns about—"

_"You let the kid drive?!"_, Ivory blurred out from the other end. I didn't allow myself to feel indignant as Faulkner barked out the directions again.

"Make for right turn there, then a left at the next intersection!"

As I did as he was told, the other line once again answered back. "Bloodhound here."

I almost lost my steering when I heard Achilles's strict-sounding voice. Another turn and a cursed warning from Faulkner, who stopped shooting but still kept his gun cocked out of the window.

Achilles's voice continued. "_Keep the boy on those turns, Seagull. Your pursuers have eyes on the main road, so make it as confusing for them as you can, got it? Now, boy,"_, my ears perked up as he dictated to me._ "I'm going to save you the time and say that we found out about those Templars at your university just before you called. Call it 'fate' or some other trash, but it's true. Now, if whatever information you have holds true, then I am asking as the head of my team that you cooperate with us on this. Do you understand, over?"_

My foot eased off the pedal slightly to make it easier on the turns Faulkner made me take. Not sure of whether to feel relieved to hear Achilles instruct me or aggravated by the chase me and Stephane got dragged into, my right hand let go of the wheel and jammed a finger on the device to reply, the adrenaline being suppressed evident in my voice.

"Yeah...I hear you, Bloodhound. But I also want part two of that 'explanation' you gave from last time." Then, out of fear, I added, "Who and why were those guys chasing us? Uh, over." Just adding the 'over' for confirmation, my hand went back to driving. I think we were just a few blocks away from the end of Route 28.

_"Hmph."_ The old man replied back. _"Apparently, they heard Seagull and Ebony were heading to your location after a side mission earlier. I'll explain everything else later. You're about a turn away from the pick-up location. Over and out."_

And with that, Achilles ended the transmission before Faulkner pushed back the device to the hidden compartment once more. Before I could react, he pointed towards a parking lot at the next intersection.

Nostrils flaring, I cruised over to it. But before I could make my way to the booth, Faulkner took hold of the wheel, easing it over to the pavement instead, urging me to hit the brakes.

I looked skeptically at him, but he was already packing up his gun into what seems like a holster inside his trench coat. Unbuckling, he got out of the car and motioned for me to follow. I practically ripped of my seatbelt and had a tight grip around my case before stepping out to where he was heading.

"Wait! This is the pick-up location?" I asked frantically as I glanced around, forcing myself to calm down after that chase. The lot was completely devoid of people, even the toll booth, with the station didn't have a guard. Only the parked vehicles around where present. Strange, this being a moderately active part of East Cambridge. Behind me, Ebony and Stephane followed, the latter biting his lip from anxiety, it seems.

Faulkner still didn't answer me as he went up to a nearby van (which was parked between two identical ones...). Going over to the front, he knocked on the door with some kind of rhythme before the driver, whose head was fully covered with a hat, shades and a scarf, said something to Faulkner and handed him a key ring before they both nodded to each other.

The old man then went to the the doors of each of the vans, unlocking the doors facing us before opening one of them. "Scramble in and stay quiet, no matter what you see or hear outside. Got it?" He instructed discreetly.

Usually, I would banter a suspicious retort, but his gun's barrel peeking out from his coat made me swallow my pride and climb in, my arm still clutching my briefcase.

_"Je ne peux pas croire que nous sommes dans ce pétrin..."_, Stephane murmured nervously as he followed me in and sat next to me. It seems he was too out of it as well to even do his usual cursing montage, but he still glared daggers at me.

It was useless, but I tried to look comfortingly at him, whispering with guilt, "I am so sorry."

He took to reconsider it, but only sighed tiredly and slouched against the seat while he groaned. "When this is all over, you will have to cook your _own_ breakfast while I deal with this...nightmare." He proceeded to stare at the ceiling.

As the door slid close, I muttered back, my smile sad, "I'll give you all the beef jerky in Boston, if I have to." Other than that lame line, there was nothing else I could do to ease either of our jitters.

I looked down on my briefcase, the contents inside either making or breaking my new involvement with these conspirators.

Ebony made to sit at the back, ruffling his cropped black hair before putting down his gun and crossing his arms. Faulkner followed suit and sat opposite of him, eyeing us.

The engine roared to life and the driver backed up the car, turning it about to head for the exit. From my window, I could make out the other two vans following suit as this one turned a curb, away from the parking lot. The other two vans made for the other ends of the intersection.

"Again, stay quiet. Don't make any reactions to what is to come." That was all he said to us, looking through the back window. the old Chevrolet coming into view and getting smaller as the van rode away.

* * *

><p>A few more minutes of driving before the driver up front spoke out, eyes still on the road, "Captain, Ivory said the pursuers have caught up with the Chevrolet. They're at the parking lot, looking the car up and down as we speak."<p>

"Good. Now, just need to finish the job." The man replied tiredly. I looked back at Faulkner questioningly just as he took out a remote control. Was it me, or did his bush-covered lips twitch slightly at the device?

I swallowed my spit, daring to ask, "What exactly did you mean by that, Fa—Seagull?" Crap, these code names are a pain in the neck to remember.

This time, that twitched turned into a smug grin as he pressed the button.

Seconds later, the ground under the van's wheels shook slightly as an eruption was heard. From the direction of the parking lot we had just left. A quick flash of light brightening the dusk sky even through the tinted windows.

The sound made me and Stephane sit up straight and we both looked at each other fidgeting before gaping at Faulkner, whose smirk I c_ould have_ lived without because it meant something I'd rather not specify.

"What? Did you actually think we didn't prepare _something_ for those bastards?", he chided as Ebony snorted.

Madmen. All of them.

The twitching in my eye did not cease throughout the ride after that. It's official: I got involved in, as Stephane would put it some time later, some _really_ deep shit.

Spirits... Help...

* * *

><p><em><strong>Unknown location, Massachusetts<strong>_

_**About an hour later**_

_**Achilles' POV**_

_"Sir, the bomb has been detonated. Seagull and Ebony are en route towards the Hideout as we speak, over and out."_

Those were the words Richard Clutterback, with a gait so downtown, answered back through the communicator earlier. I could just image him, staring down at that parking lot from his position. Most likely, his brother and Faulkner were already taking the hidden path towards this location. With them, Danohue and some other person who got into the crossfire.

My gloved fingers went to rub at my eyes, frustrated. It was one thing to use our resources to retrieve the young man, but now we have but _another_ civilian to worry about?

After the last transmission, I began pacing about the Communications Room, my cane clinking about as I waited for them to arrive. _Tak, tak, tak _the metal tip went as I went back and forth feverishly, the room lit only the monitors and a few fluorescent lights. My restlessness urged Mills and two other operatives to stand by with me.

"Bloodhound, please sit down." Mills said for about the fifth time, going over to me with a concerned look, adding, "Wasting your remaining limb strength won't make this any less decisive."

Stopping, I looked back to him with my tired eyes. He was right; the decision had been made. We took a risk to trust the boy's would-be claim on Kenway's involvement in his university. And to an extent, revealing him to the reality of his situation regarding this secret war, if such was needed.

I nodded before replying, "I know, Specter. But through the years, I've just been so paranoid about our operations." Going over to his side, I added, "Perhaps it was foolish of me to put in so much for a college student."

Bemusement seen on his barely-lit face, Mills grunted. "You've made so many 'foolish' decisions. Only a handful of them backfired, so let's hope this is one of them." He put it so neutrally that I didn't catch any humor or spite in that statement. A hand of his went to fish out another communicator from the pack on his thigh. It was beeping, a transmission at the ready.

Ah. Robert and David made it out alive with those two kids.

_"Seagull here. We have arrived with the Package and the side order civilian. Making our way to the containment room now, over."_

The containment room was our way of saying 'waiting area', which it usually is. Unless the person waiting was up for hard interrogation. Then it's be called something else.

Connecting a small microphone to it, he pressed the button to answer, "Specter here. Good job, Seagull. We'll be taking Bloodhound there as well." A bob of his head to me before Mills and the other two operatives walked me through the nearby hall.

As we went, he continued. "After that, we'll leave him with those kids and keep watch via surveillance footage. Just keep those two calm, over."

_"Affirmative, but hurry up, dammit. The Package's buddy gave us an earful and some jabs after we got out of the van, forcing me and Ebony to subdue him. The Package demanded we let him go, provided he would keep him calm. But I doubt it'll last." _An indignant 'hmph' could be heard before the 'over and out.", the transmission ended.

Mills gave the device a look before repocketing it, moving with a straight step before looking at the other two operatives from the corner of his eye. His voice went with some brashness, "Take Bloodhound to the containment room. Any further instructions will come from him and to be heeded without question. And keep your distance from the Package. Understood?"

He waited until they both nodded, if somewhat petrified, before he himself gave me a supportive look. Mills then broke off from us, heading most likely back to the board room to patch things up with Urban Dragon's data.

The female of the two went to my left, the male on my right, as she said, "At your orders, sir."

It took some of my self-restraint to not sass up at them as I limped my way ahead, them behind me.

* * *

><p>Just outside the the door, Richard and Robert were waiting for us. From the minimal lighting we got, it seemed Richard was sporting a bruise. My skepticism must have showed, because Faulkner tiredly explained, "He tried to lead one of them out of the van, but got a punch as soon as Ebony laid a hand on him." Being explained for got a grunt from Richard as he took off his trench coat, folded and hung it on one arm, excusing himself to check up on his brother.<p>

I emitted a deep sigh before tugging up my hood over my head. Without looking , I said to my two young escorts, "You two stay outside and guard the door. I'll buzz for you when needed." A direct order. No inquiry as to if the understood, which they did as they saluted at me.

Salutes. They really are newbies.

With my cane, I walked over to the door, Faulkner giving me a questioning look before my chin raised signaled him to open the door.

The containment room was a small, square space, occupied normally by only a rectangle glass table and some plastic chairs. (If it were an interrogation, those chairs would be replaced by a more sturdy bit of furniture with straps and locks on the chairs' legs.) There where some harmless-looking picture frames of natural scenerythat hid one-way windows where other operatives could observe the exchanges. And as for lighting, well, we had two floor lamps installed for these kinds of exchanges, but those would be replaced with a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling if an enemy sat on the chairs.

In this case though, I wasn't so sure if the two young men on the opposite chairs where friend or foe.

Taking limp steps inside, I made my presence known to our guests. My old eyes found Radun, even through that get-up of his. Seems like he had his eyes on that door the whole time waiting, still keeping a vague face with but a thin lip line for indication. But his arms, clutching what seemed to be a briefcase, spoke volumes about his view of the situation. When my eyes darted to, who by now I had deducted, was his dormmate, he gave me a more disturbed reaction.

Shirt with a logo design, capri pants, some cap with the Celtics logo on it and sandals, he didn't seem rather intimidating, but the gait of his startled glare warned me to keep watch of him. Particularly if his supposed tantrums led to rumbles.

As I sized them up, Faulkner followed, closed the door and stood next to me from the sounds of his footsteps. A cough before he spoke casually, "We apologize for keeping you gentlemen waiting, but things had to be cleared out, CCTV-cameras sabotaged and civilians monitored before we could entertain you." A soft cackle came before he continued. "This fine chap with us is our team leader Bloodhound, whose real identity need not to be mentioned further—"

"I already know who he is. I'm the reason he's standing here with us, remember?"

The sudden banter from the Native American was tauntingly annoying. He still held his grip on the case, but he now stood straighter than before, his eyes finally giving an emotion: queasiness.

Regardless, it completely took Faulkner off guard, an intense glare searing though his features as he scoffed, "You ain't in a position to mock, you brat. And don't use such sassy tone around—"

Before he could rant any further, I used my cane to push him back just as it looked like her was going to charge at the boy, who was trying his best to keep his own look of wariness. Faulkner, obviously feeling disgruntled, tried to reason. But I doned a warning look at him through my beaked hood.

"Let it go, Seagull. If I had wanted a debate, I would have put you all back at the training facility while doing head-to-head. Now," This time, I faced the other two, my tone no-nonsense, "As much as I want to swat that disrespectful lip of yours, Mister Da—"

"Native."

"Pardon?" I paused exasperated. Faulkner and that other young man with us looked at Ratonhnhaké:ton with confusion.

Breathing in, the boy loosened his grip on the case before laying it on his slightly parted lap and said, "If you big,bad Assassins need to hide your identities with fancy nicknames, then I believe I have the _right _to protect my _own_ identity. Same goes for my roomie here. Deal with it." And with that, he crossed his arms stubbornly before giving us the stink eye.

The other boy took awhile to get over that sentence before slouching in his seat, one foot resting on the opposite knee while dejectedly going in a Québécois accent, "Fine. Whatever. I'm obviously a casualty in this, so I'll hide my name, too. Call me "Victim", because I AM ONE." His peach hands went to his forehead, grunting before looking at me dissatisfied.

My sneer went all the more annoyed-looking as I strode over to them, waving my cane about nonchalantly. "Do whatever you want. I won't even have to bother with your names in our database if you don't want to get involve. less work for us, right Seagull?" I tactfully ranted with my flat face at Faulkner's head shake.

This encounter was going to go downhill if I didn't speed it up.

It seemed young Ratonhnhaké:ton had the same trail of thought. "Look. I called you for a reason. And don't just dismiss it like I'm some alien-hunting wacko because _you_ all agreed to bring me here." He stood up instantly, his full height making him look less like a student and more like a truck worker,

To which I nodded, more or less. I went over to one chair facing them and took a seat, the cane in between my knees as I looked at him disinterested. "Take a seat, Native. Don't start some tantrum while we're discussing this." And before he could sass back at me, I took out a spare cellphone, searched the files for a specific folder, clicked the first file on the list and slid it over to his side of the table.

As he stopped to stare at it questioningly, I directly continued. "About exactly four hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds ago, our operative working undercover within the college district—yes, I sent for someone to spy on your university—", I quickly reprimanded when the information sank into his and Victim's mind and kept going. "has spotted an undercover agent from Abstergo and his conspirator walking and conversing around the very building _you_ claimed to have spotted the man at in that picture." My fingers waved to the phone.

As he held the device and eyed the screen, his face seemed to drain its cooper palette. His friend did a similar reaction and voiced a 'No way...', gaping at the photograph From Ratonhnhaké:ton's shoulder.

Looks like there's no denying that Haytham Kenway was at the university, but that part, we already _knew_.

Alright. Now for the rest of that apple pie. I motioned my hand into a circling motion and added, "Do change from the first to the next pictures left-to-right as I continue. Now, seeing as he is the Head of the Communication of Arts department at Attucks, there's not enough seeing him around campus for our spy. But, we can assure that he was placed there on purpose by the original company he works at." They should have a picture of Kenway at the Abstergo Facility in Montreal.

As I went on with explaining who Haytham Kenway was, the young Mohawk's grip on the phone grew tight but shaky. Then, as I went to tell about how he got involved, he tossed me back the phone.

Catching it, I stared at him questioningly. "I'm not done explaining this situation. Unless...you already knew about him." It wasn't a question. I already had that hunch before, but his sudden downward glance and pursed lips were confirmation of it.

"Y...Yes. I knew about Professor Kenway's past employment at Abstergo Industries..." After what seemed to be an eternity and a half-hearted pat from his buddy, Ratonhnhaké:ton looked back up, somewhat hurt but determined now. "But what I didn't know was that he was involved in this...this _struggle _you have with...welll, _them._" After saying it, his shaky hands went to the briefcase and tumbled at the combination lock.

Victim, now, backed up slightly at our exchanged, probably feeling left out of the loop as he stammered, "H-Hold it.", he mentioned to the Native, who stopped unlocking the case and reluctantly looked at his friend's paranoid look. "I know about the Professor working at Abstergo, but what _struggle_ are you two blubbering about?" His face lost, the young man looked to me with earnest or isolation.

But I didn't grant him any answers to sich questions. After all, what young Ratonhnaké:ton said next meant they're be answered either way.

"You know about Kenway, but what about that guy he was with earlier?" He only raised his oupils to us just slightly before going back to the combination. "I saw his name. I think he could be one of the people I'm lookimg for."

He saw the man's name? Suddenly, my interests in this conversation had perked up. To my left, the same could be said with Faulkner as his chair dragged from him pushing himself up.

As I turned back to the boy, I tried to inquire without sounding to curious. "We have found surveillance of the man having a walk with Kenway around the the ground floor of that building, but our agent coudln't get near enough to not caugh suspicion. That's when we got your call."

Finally, the boy had open that damn briefcase. With a new spark in his eye, young Ratonhnhaké:ton placed the case on the table. His friend went to look at the contents, only being slightly curious of it.

With both hands placed at the bottom of the case, he looked me straight in the eye and spoke, "I've been gathering all this data. To be honest, I only wantted it originally to go straight at the company, but I think this organication of your might find...better use of it."

And that's when he turned the briefcase, contents facing us.

Sir...", Faulkner said, mesmerized somewhat, as he came closer, standing nust at the table's edge.

And I myself would not be shock for most things. And yet the amount of data inside that suitcase, much less the person who collected them...

They were not most things.

**END OF CHAPTER 7**

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><p><strong><span>Author's note:<span> **You guys have NO IDEA how much I've wanted to split this into TOW FREAKIN' chapters, but now. It stays as one.

And so, ends a chapter that will start more sassy action and irony. Wait for the next one, folks!

_Next update: 2nd week of June, perhaps._

_Ciao~!_

_~Itchy_


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